To the Victor come the spoils
by HBfan26
Summary: Complete. One of their own is missing, but even that isn't straightforward and as the team delve into his past, they realise that nothing is as it seems.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

**FBI Missing Persons Unit. July 2004**

Four people sat silently around a desk, each one lost in their own thoughts, each one staring at the phone, willing it to ring.

Around them lay piles of papers, boxes of files, empty coffee cups and sandwich wrappers. A half eaten brownie was discarded in one corner, and a box of cigarettes lay open and half empty in another. The air in office was stale, musty even, as if noone had opened a door or a window in days.

It was probably true.

They didn't speak to each other anymore, not out of anger, not through any fault of their own, they simply couldn't. Fear, worry and exhaustion were all they seemed to know.

Its funny how noisy silence can be though, they could here the noise coming from outside the office, people murmuring, talking on phones, calling out to each other on the corridor and on the stairs. They could hear the sounds of the city from outside the open window. The noises of New York, taxis and cop cars, ambulances, the noise of machinery.

It didn't help. Hearing the world go on, listening to people go about their everyday lives like that. It just didn't help.

'_They should be doing the same thing'_, Jack Malone thought, as he watched Danny Taylor rise and start pacing the room for the fifteenth time that day.

They should be working on whatever the latest missing persons case was, they should be sitting about, talking, discussing the case, looking over the evidence as normal.

Sam would go through the phone records, her quick eye could always pick out the strange numbers, the ones that looked out of place, the extra long phone conversations, she could pick out patterns too, like if someone was calling at the same time every day or every week. That was what she was good at.

Maybe her and Danny was go and talk to the suspect, and if she was female then Danny would turn on the charm, he'd get them to open up, he'd chat and talk, they'd get relaxed, and then they'd let something slip. Danny could always get people to talk.

Maybe Viv and Sam would go over instead, sometimes the most cautious suspect would let their guard down in the presence of two women, especially the men.

And then there was Martin……..

"Danny, for god's sake sit down" Jack Malone finally snapped at the younger agent. "you're making me dizzy", he added, in a softer tone this time. _'Its getting to me just as much as you Taylor' _his tone implied.

Sam looked up from her computer. "Jack, I think maybe I've got something here"

Danny walked over and stood behind her, one hand on the back of her chair, she could feel the tension, feel it bouncing off him against everyone else. _"He feels guilty" _she thought. _"He thought he had Martin all figured out, hell, maybe he was even a little jealous. But not anymore."_

"Well?" Jack asked, almost irritably not looking up from the file that he was reading. He was tired, hell, they were all tired.

Martin Fitzgerald had been missing for two days now. Three very long, tense and very anxious days.

At this stage Vivian had joined Danny on the other side of Sam. Jack looked up, irritated by their silence. "Sam? What did you find…." He began but stopped.

Samantha had gone white, Danny was looking at the computer screen in disbelief, that look he always got when they came up against something tricky in anycase. You could hear a pin drop in the room.

Vivian was the first to speak.

"Jack, I think you should read this"

And as he moved over to where the little group were huddled, and as he read that newspaper article, suddenly so many things fitted into place for Jack Malone. '_I was wrong, I never knew, never even guessed.'……._

"Danny!" Noone had spoken a word for maybre three or four minutes and Jack's voice made them jump.

Danny looked, and saw reflected in his boss's face, all the rising anger he too was feeling.

"Get your things, we're going to pay the mighty Victor Fitzgerald a visit."


	2. Chapter 2

_**Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed, I never expected to get as many and am so pleased you want this story to continue!  
**_

_**Thanks again!**_

**Chapter 2**

**May 2004 - Three months earlier**

Danny Taylor sat slumped in his chair, trying to figure out how he was going to keep his head upright without the aide of his hands. Strewn on the table in front of him were a half empty coffee cup, a bottled water, a half eaten doughnut, the foil wrapping from his paracetamol tablets and a large stack of phone records that had been put on the desk in front of him just five minutes previously.

He groaned and popped another tablet, chasing down with a mouthful of now lukewarm coffee. He eyed the stack of phone records in front of him, all of which belonged to their latest missing person, Annette Hooper, a 28 year old medical student who disappeared two nights previously after an argument with her boyfriend.

"Well you look like shit" A disembodied voice reached Danny's ear and he turned to see Martin Fitzgerald crossing the room towards him looking even more like the front cover of GQ than usual. His light brown suit was expensive, well cut and the matching cream shirt and tie looked new.

"Shouldn't you be at home, starching your underwear or whatever it is you Ivy Leager's do on days off?" Danny finished the sentence with a loud "A-tish-oo!"

"God bless you" Martin replied dryly before sitting down across from him at the table. "Day off got cancelled, and I think you should be the one at home, by the looks of it…." As he spoke Martin produced a slim flask from a bag in his hand and placed it on the table in front of Danny. "Drink this" he commanded "I can't listen to you coughing and sneezing all day long"

Danny unscrewed the lid of the flask and sniffed suspiciously at the contents. "What is it?"

"Ah, if I told you that, I'd have to kill you" he began, and then noting the rising irritation on his partner's expression he continued "It's the patented Fitzgerald cold cure, guaranteed to make you feel better. Normally it's got about a half bottle of booze, but you have the 'virgin' version" he added, slightly awkwardly.

Danny smiled at the agent before putting the flask to his lips and swallowing down a mouthful of the think syrupy concoction.

"Tastes like four day old soup" he complained, wiping his lips with a tissue.

"Yeah, I know, Mom used to mix it with orange juice when we were little, so it didn't taste as bad" Martin paused, before adding "Until Dad found out…. '_You are too soft for your own good Martin, drink it like a man!'_ Martin smiled ruefully as he spoke and stood up, adjusting his tie. "Speaking of which, I have to go."

"Where too?" Danny gulped down another mouthful from the flask and grimaced.

"Oh you know, a little father son bonding time. Dad's in town 'on business' so he's fitting me in from half seven to eight. Just enough time to find out what my intentions are for the next six months." Martin laughed as he spoke, passing the statement off as a joke. "Ill catch up with you later, enjoy those phone records"

And so Martin passed through onto the corridor waving at Vivian Johnson who was just exiting the elevator.

Danny however, knew a little bit about the mighty Victor Fitzgerald, both from Jack and from conversations and passing comments from Martin himself, and he knew their relationship was strained at best. At that moment in time though, he also knew that his head felt decidedly less woozy than it had for the past three days. "Thanks Fitz' he said silently, before turning to answer Viv's good morning with a smile of his own.

"Whats up with Martin?" she added, look's like he's going to an interview.

"Breakfast with the mighty Vic" Danny quipped before throwing the dark skinned agent a knowing look.

Before anything could be discussed further however, Jack and Sam entered and talk turned to the latest case. Jack began without his usual good morning, and judging by the looks Sam was giving them, Danny and Viv knew that their boss was not in a good mood that day.

"Alright, Annette Hooper" he began without preamble. "28 years old, medical student in NYU. We know she had a boyfriend, Karl……Karl Woodward" Jack flicked through the papers in his hand as he spoke. "He says nothing was wrong, they hadn't argued, as far as he knew everything was fine." "Danny, what have you got?"

"Well I havent gotten through all of these records, but I do know that she made a couple of hundred calls to one number, the medical dept of NYU. Now she always got transferred to the same extension, which as it happens belongs to her Anatomy professor, Dr Jim Calbraith."

"What else?" Jack added his tone almost irritable.

Danny merely raised an eyebrow at Sam, sitting across the table before continuing. "That's about all I know so far, there are some other numbers that I need to trace, but I only got these records about an hour ago. Some hold up with the phone company."

"Some 'hold up' could cost this girl's life" Jack snapped "Sam, you and Vivian head over to the college and see this professor; I'm going to speak to her boyfriend again. Danny, keep looking at those records.

"What about Fitz, he'll be back in twenty minutes and I……." Danny began,

"Just worry about doing your own job Taylor and leave Martin to me ok?" And with that Jack walked out of the Bullpen.

"Ouch" Danny put his hand over his heart dramatically. "What's eating him?"

"Got me." Tall blond Samantha Spade sat back in her chair. "I met him in the elevator this morning and he wouldn't even say hello, just grunted at me! I think it's something to do with Martin though" she added thoughtfully.

"When isnt it…a….a…..a-tish-oo!" Danny groaned and reached for a tissue.

"Come on Sam, I don't want to catch anymore germs of misery boy here, and I don't fancy making Jack any angrier that he is."

Danny shook his head before turning his attention back to the stack of records in front of him.

'It's gonna be a long day'……


	3. Chapter 3

_Thank you, thank you, thank you! Reviews are the best inspiration I know!_

**Chapter 3 - Deputy Directors Office, Washington. July 2004.**

"Jack, do come in, sorry if I kept you waiting." Victor Fitzgerald didn't offer either man a handshake or a smile and Danny could feel resentment pouring out of every pore. But Victor was a professional. He bade the two agents follow him into his large, well furnished office.

"Please, sit." He motioned to two soft leather armchairs. Jack however stayed standing and Danny chose merely to perch on the arm of one the chairs, a move which he knew would irritate the Deputy Director and which perhaps subconsciously he made for that very reason.

"I take it you have news of my son?" For a moment Victor's expression almost softened, but only for the briefest of seconds.

"No." Jack scrubbed his hand over his face wearily. He had tried to sleep on the plane from New York, they both had, but Jack couldn't get that picture on Sam's computer screen out of his head, nor the accompanying news story.

"But we do have some information that we think might be connected." He added. "I know you and Martin met for breakfast a couple of months back."

"I try to meet up with my son whenever I'm in New York" Victor Fitzgerald's manner was brusque. "What's your point Agent Malone."

_Agent Malone. Not 'Jack' anymore. _Jack cleared his throat slightly before continuing.

"Did you and Martin talk about anything in particular that day?" he continued after slight pause.

"I really can't remember; as you said it was a few months ago, I assume we talked as normal about work, Martin's mother and sister, plans for the holidays. I don't think we spoke for more than half an hour, I had a lot of meetings that day and had to be back in Washington for a charity ball that night.

"I thought that charity began at home?" The words were out of Danny Taylor's mouth almost before he could stop himself.

"Excuse me Agent Taylor?" Victor whipped around and glowered at the younger detective. "And what may I ask are you implying in that statement?"

"Danny! Leave it." Jack's tone was harsh but his eyes implied so much more. _'I know, I want to strangle the bd too, but we have to do it this way.' _He turned his attention back to Victor.

"Look, we know Victor. We found the newspaper article, it took quite a while, but we did. I am sorry to bring this up again after all these years but I think that's the reason the Martin disappeared, something to do with that time, with what happened."

Victor Fitzgerald paled just a little, but his voice remained icy. "Senior Supervisory Agent Malone" he began. "I would advise you to tread very carefully. You are not aware of all the facts, and it was a long time ago, I fail to understand how this can relate to my son's disappearance. After all, he was only 7 when………when that happened. He received the best medical treatment and counseling that money could buy at the time, and has recovered fully from those particular………………….incidents."

"Incidents?" Jack Malone could no longer prevent his voice from rising. "Incidents? My God! Your 7 year old son is kidnapped and buried in a cellar for almost 4 months, and is released only to find that his mother has committed suicide thinking that her only son was dead? It's a little bit more than just an incident don't you think?"

Even as he spoke the words, Jack could feel his hands shaking and could see Danny lowering his head in disgust.

"Perhaps I should explain." Victor Fitzgerald sat down heavily on his chair and after a moment's pause, Jack motioned for he and Danny to do the same.

"It was a very traumatic time for us all." Victor began. "We were absolutely terrified that our son was dead, we heard nothing from his captors for quite a long time, and naturally I had the best men available on the case. But my wife was never very strong unfortunately, she was on tablets from a heart conditions and in her distress, she took too many. That is all, the papers tried to say it was suicide, but that wasn't the case"

Both agents could see this was bringing back some painful memories for Victor Fitzgerald, but still his tone of voice never changed, and his defiant stance never altered.

"It was an unfortunate incident for everyone involved and if I could turn back the clock I would do some things differently, but it happened, I don't see how it can be connected to Martin's disappearance now."

"Well, if you'd taken the time to find out, you'd have seen that the main suspect in your son's kidnapping case was released two weeks ago." Danny Taylor's tone, though guarded, was unmistakably sarcastic.

"Maybe you would like to tell us the whole story?"

Jack turned to face Victor, making direct eye contact with his superior. For a moment it seemed that Victor was going to close up, to dismiss the two agents. An almost imperceptable stand off took place between the two men, the deputy director one side, Jack on the other. Neither man spoke. Finally Danny stood up and made for the door, his supressed anger threatening to get the better of him.

"Agent Taylor, wait" Victor spoke, but this time his voice was different, softer, almost….defeated. "Perhaps I do owe you an explanation, if it will help find my son."

Danny paused at the door and turned before speaking. "You know what, you owe it to Martin. I just hope it's not too late."


	4. Chapter 4

_Wow, thanks for all the support, you are all probably the reason its being written so quickly...so once again THANKS!_

**Chapter 4**

**March 29th 1983 – A suburb outside Washington DC.**

"Marty? Marty? Where are you? Dinner's on the table." Elinor Fitzgerald stood at the back door, she was a young woman; no more than 30, with deep blue eyes and a long mane of blond hair falling almost to her waist.

"Martin?" she called again, a little more anxiously this time.

There was no sign of the boy. Usually Martin came running at the first mention of food, it was their little game. He'd come tearing up the garden and she'd swing him high into the air and then gather him in for a bear hug. Then they would chatter together for the few minutes until dinnertime. It was their game, their little secret. Victor Fitzgerald didn't approve of such displays of affection, believing that they made a boy 'too soft'

Again she called his name, but the back of the Fitzgerald house with its patio, large perfectly edged lawn and sharp cut box hedging was silent. She hesitated. Dinner was just ready, Victor would be back in…she looked at her watch…. three minutes.

He was always on time, when he was at home that was. He always came through from his study to the dining room at seven p.m. sharp. After 8 years of marriage and two children, Elinor Fitzgerald had come to accept and her husbands set ways. Many people had warned her that Victor Fitzgerald was harsh, a strict disciplinarian, incapable of genuine emotion. But Elinor loved her husband, he was a good provider, and she was never short of money or food, they had a lovely home and she had two wonderful children. And if she was missing affection, well, she had Marty for that.

She could hear Martin's younger sister Anna playing in the living room and her husbands sharp command to the girl to 'Go sit up at the table young lady.' Then Victor Fitzgerald was standing beside her in the kitchen.

"Everything alright Elinor?" he asked, and his voice softened almost imperceptibly, as it always did around his pretty young wife. "Where is Martin?"

"I…he must just be playing somewhere…I'm sure he just lost track of time, Victor, ill walk down the garden and look for him."

"Nonsense!" Victor's voice was sharper now. "Martin Fitzgerald, please come into the house now, dinner is on the table."

Elinor couldn't help wincing at the tone of her husband's voice; she hoped he wasn't going to get into one of those moods. The only real problem that she had with her husband were his ideas of 'disciplining' his children, and in particular his son. Physical violence, however it was justified to her, just didn't seem to be the right thing to do, and although it was never really bad, she still disliked it.

"Martin." Victor walked down the path that bisected the lawn in two and towards the box hedging, where there were ample places for little boys to hide. "Now come on, young man, your mother is worried."

But there was no sign of the boy anywhere and it took only another 5 or so minutes of searching for Victor Fitzgerald to realize that something was wrong. He looked back at his wife. "Elinor, please call George Stevens"

"The police?" Now genuine worry had lined Elinor Fitzgerald's pretty face. "Victor, what's wrong, can't you find him? Maybe he went out next door?"

However, they both knew that Martin Fitzgerald wouldn't leave without his mother's permission, and Elinor knew that he would never miss their 'dinner talks' as they had been christened. She sat down heavily on a wicker chair, as realization hit her. Victor was a good detective, maybe one of the best, and he had been hotly tipped for the recently opened position of deputy director. That was why they had moved to Washington, six months previously.

Victor had brilliant instincts. And he knew that something was wrong. And suddenly she did too.

Someone had taken Marty.

&&&&&&&&

'Marty' Fitzgerald was cold. His blue shorts and green t-shirt afforded him little protection against the damp walls of the cellar that they had put him in. He had just been sick and even though there was nothing left in his stomach, he wanted to be sick again. Chloroform. He knew that's what they had asked his Dad all about it one day. For some reason his Dad had told him too, and usually they never talked about anything besides school.

He was so stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid, silly Martin. His Dad has warned him again and again and again never, ever to talk to any stranger. He could still remember the hiding he got when Mr. Jones next door had invited him over to look at his collection of butterflies. Boy had his father been mad, even his Mom was cross for a while. But not like Dad, not for long.

Martin adjusted his legs so that they were stretched out in front of him. He looked down at his legs and at the cuts on both his knees, the results of a playground fight. Martin hated always being the new kid in school. He'd show them though; he wouldn't let anyone bully him.

He sighed heavily. What would Dad say now…would he think that Martin had ran away on purpose, or that he'd gone over to Mr. Jones's even though he swore he never would. His Mom might be worried though, and he felt sorriest for her. Martin loved him mother, loved her so much that sometimes he thought a part of him belonged only to her. As he grew up and as his Dad's influence took hold Martin learned to be less affectionate, less open, even at seven years of age.

He thought back to the event of the previous two hours. He'd been playing Star Wars, he was Hans Solo and he was going to defeat Darth Vader, who was hiding somewhere in the hedges. He been creeping along the bottom of one of the tallest of these hedges when a hand seemed to come out of the hedge and grabbed him, clamping something over his mouth. He knew that something was wrong but he couldn't get the hand off his mouth and as he thrashed and fought against the mans hold he breathed in huge mouthfuls of the strong sweet smelling scent on the tissue.

And now he was sitting here in a cold, damp celler all along with nothing to do. His head ached and he was so tired. Martin Fitzgerald's last thought as he slipped into oblivion was that he was going to miss his talk with Mom that day.


	5. Chapter 5

_Thanks to everyone for reviewing, especially __Sara Sidle__, Kay, pealee, __S.c.ou.s.er.4.li.f.e__, Ebony & Renee and everyone…._ _The next chapter won't be for a week or so I'm afraid, as I'm going on holidays._

_There was a mistake with the date at the start of Chapter 3, sorry! It should have been 2004, I've just changed it. I hope switching between timelines depending on chapter isn't too confusing, but it's the only way this story can really work._

**Chapter 5**

**FBI Missing Persons May 2004.**

Martin Fitzgerald heaved a sigh of relief as he made his way out of the glass fronted café, across the car park and away from his father. The anger which had been threatening to spill over started to cool down the more he walked.

Breakfast had been as expected. Tense. Angry. Confrontational. Even more so than usual. He knew that his father hadn't wanted him to join the FBI and certainly hadn't wanted him to join missing persons. It was too close to home; too much of a reminder of what had happened. But he didn't join for that reason, no matter what his father thought, he didn't do it just to piss him off, although, Martin grinned as he sat into the driver seat of his car, which was a bit of a bonus.

His smile soon faded however as he mulled over his fathers parting words. _"Look Martin, this is not the correct choice for you, I have conveyed this to Jack Malone by telephone, and I believe he agrees with me."_

Surely not? Surely Jack would see through Victor Fitzgerald, would see that his father just wants him out of missing persons? Wouldn't he?

For some reason Martin just couldn't be sure about it, about anything. His father was like that; he never made definite commitments in any particular direction, but simply chipped away at the surface. By degrees he would instill doubt into Jack Malone's mind and in the sure and certain knowledge that he was 'doing the right thing' for his son.

The noise of his cell phone ringing was a welcome interruption….

"Fitzgerald".

"Martin, its Jack, I'm on my way over to Annette Hooper's boyfriends apartment. 1361 West 73rd Street. Meet me there." Jacks voice was even, and his tone betrayed neither annoyance nor friendship.

Martin flipped off his cell phone and sighed, turning his attention back to the traffic ahead of him. Twenty minutes driving saw him pulling up behind Jack's tan sedan. He sighed heavily before opening the door. He needed to talk to Jack, to know that his boss was thinking…

As he was stepping out of the car Martin could hear shouts coming from inside the building!. He immediately went into alert, pulling his gun from its holster as he sprinted inside the front door and up the stairs.

Martin entered the apartment to find Karl Woodward face down on the floor in handcuffs, and a breathless Jack Malone standing over him. "Now maybe you'll listen to me" Jack whipped around to face Martin. "Where the hell were you, I phoned you half an hour ago."

Before the younger agent could apologize however, Jack continued. "Mr. Woodward here wasn't being very cooperative, tried to run away in fact. I think under the circumstances we should just arrest him." He turned back to face the man who was now sitting upright on the floor, his hands behind his back. Karl Woodward was in his early thirties, slightly balding and wearing an obviously expensive suit.

"Evading an FBI officer…grievous bodily harm…and that's just the beginning of it."

Martin slipped into his role immediately. "You want me to bring him in now Jack?" he began, making his way across the room.

"No, wait, look, I just got scared when you came in the door ok, I….I thought you were someone else. I'll talk, no problem, ok, just take off these handcuffs."

There was a silent, almost imperceptible interchange between the two FBI agents.

'_Will we?'_

'_Nah, lets make him sweat it out a little more'_

'_Ok'_

Twenty minutes later the two agents exited the front door of the apartment block, Jack was on the telephone and Martin just ahead of him.

"Hey Viv. Listen, Martin and I just spoke to Annette Hooper's boyfriend, apparently they'd been having a few 'problems' lately, he thought she might be having an affair with someone but couldn't figure out who, he told us that he last spoke to her three days ago and they had an argument and decided not to see each other for a while. How did you get on with her professor."

Jack nodded as he listened then after a brief "Ok, ill see you back at the bullpen" he ended the call.

"Well it looks like Annette and the professor were having some kind of an affair. He's married with three kids, doesn't want his wife to find out naturally, so he's willing to tell us anything he knows, Viv and Sam are bringing him in for questioning."

Martin nodded silently and there was an awkward pause before he replied. "Ok, ill meet you there, but listen, Jack, I know my fath….."

"We'll talk about that later." Jack's voice was clipped and Martin knew to say no more. As Jack Malone pulled out of sight however, he couldn't help banging his fist against his car door in frustration. Victor Fitzgerald wasn't going to win this time; he's talk to Jack somehow before the day was out.

Martin's phone rang yet again as he was pulling away from the curb. "Fitzgerald"

"Martin, it's Grace Jackson."

Martin felt his heart skip a beat, and then it began to pound relentlessly in his chest. After a moment's pause he spoke. "Grace, nice to hear from you, how are things in Washington, are they treating you well?"

"Look Martin, Jameson was released last night. I thought you should know before it became public news."

Martin pulled the car over sharply to the side of the road, causing those vehicles behind him to brake and shouts of abuse were hurled at him as they drove by. But Martin was oblivious to anything except his pounding heart and the fact that the hand holding the phone to his ear had started to shake.

Memories…… the cellar, the damp cold walls, being cold and hungry, being alone. A man standing over him, taunting him.

Stan Jameson.

And without saying goodbye to the woman who had been an investigating officer on the case all those years ago, Martin hung up the phone, flung the car door open and vomited.

All in all this definitely wasn't one of Martin Fitzgerald's better days.


	6. Chapter 6

_Hello! Just back from bella Italia…sun, sea, sights…amazing…ok without further ado Chapter 6….also again THANK YOU a thousand times for all your reviews!_

**Chapter 6 **

**July 2004**

The return flight from Washington to New York had been pretty much silent, as both men digested the information given, however unwillingly by an obviously emotionally by Victor Fitzgerald.

For once in his life, Jack Malone was stumped.

Why when he knew this information could be important to finding his son had Victor Fitzgerald kept it from them? Or had he pulled some strings elsewhere, had he other agents, more senior than his missing persons unit out there looking foe him?

Jack Malone was good at figuring people out, it was one of the things he did best. He had always known that Victor and Martin had problems and he knew there was more to them than met the eye, but no matter how much he thought he knew about either of these men, there seemed to be so much that no-one knew.

What mattered now though was that they had a name and they had information to go on. He'd already called Viv and asked her to start looking for a full case history and last know address for Stan Jameson, saying that he would explain everything else when they got back.

Looking over at the younger agent seated on the seat across from him, Jack couldn't help giving a wry smile. Danny was angry, really, really angry. He could tell both by his silence and the way he played with the ring on the middle finger of his left hand, twisting it around and around that he was trying to process the information, trying to make sense of the last couple of hours.

Back around the conference table in the Bullpen that evening, a very tired Jack Malone gave and equally weary Sam and Viv a summary of Victors tale and although he'd made it as concise and matter of fact as possible, the image of that 5 year old boy all alone in the cellar stuck in all their minds. Vivian and Jack were parents, and he knew they were both thinking the same thing, what if it were Hannah or Reggie….what if…

In the short silence that followed Danny stood up started pacing the room yet again, his anger threatening to get the better of him.

Jack glanced over at Sam, the dark circles under her eyes betrayed more than just a lack of sleep. He wondered if she'd known anything, if during that brief relationship he'd opened up about his mother or his stepmother, but from the look on her face, he knew that hadn't happened. Just like everyone else, it was kept a secret, a well hidden, well covered up secret.

"Why didn't Victor tell us before now?" Danny Taylor couldn't help the anger in his voice.

Jack sighed and scrubbed his hand over his face. "I've been thinking the same thing, but you know there could be any number of reasons, maybe he already has other people looking for Jameson, he has contacts in places that we could never touch."

Jack paused, as if searching for other explanations. "Maybe…maybe he didn't think that Jameson would come back to Martin, not after all these years. I mean, we don't even know if that's what happened, we're just assuming at the moment, maybe Stan Jameson moved to Iowa and married his childhood sweetheart, for all we know he could be pumping Gas somewhere in Alaska this last couple of months.

"That's bullshit Jack and you know it." Danny was angry; angry at himself for not following his instinct when he knew something was wrong with Martin this last while and also angry because he realized that Martin had found out about Jameson and hadn't told him. Betrayed, betrayed by his partners lack of trust.

"Martin knew." Danny almost blurted the words out. "He knew about Jameson, I just know he did, and he never said a damned thing to anyone."

"Maybe he did" Jack conceded, "But number 1, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, Martin's as stubborn as his old man sometimes and number 2, I guess he thought he could fight his own battles, I guess he just didn't want any more attention for what he saw as all the wrong reasons.

"He thought he could handle it alone." Sam's voice was thoughtful. "Let's face it he has a slight record of getting himself into trouble around here."

"Alright." Jack stood up and looked at them. "We have Jameson's last know address, as well as his father's address and the name of his last known girlfriend. As we can see from the files, he wasn't the only once involved in the kidnapping".

Jack scanned the file in his hand….. "Antonio Marquis is the other guy involved and he's still inside. His parole was revoked, something to do with slitting some poor guy's throat with a piece of glass in the exercise yard one day."

"Nice man" Vivian murmured, "I guess I'll go see Antonio?"

Jack nodded. "Bring Danny with you. Sam, can you check out the girlfriend, just in case, and I'll visit Pops. There's an ABP out on Jameson as we speak, but I've told them only to report sightings directly to me and not to approach him under any circumstances. We have to play this carefully until we get some more information.

"And Victor?" asked Vivian cautiously.

Jack signed heavily. "He's fully contactable should we require any additional information." Jack didn't bother to hide the heavy sarcasm in his voice.

"He's a fully contactable a-hole." Danny Taylor murmered to Sam as they left the office.

Once the other's left Jack sat down and dialled the number that he'd bribed Victor Fitzgeralds secretary to pass on to him. The phone rang once, twice, three times before being answered.

"Mrs Fitzgerald?" he began? "It's Jack Malone, Martin's boss, I'm sorry to not have any more information on your son's dissapearance, but I really would like to speak to you about something, if possible….."


	7. Chapter 7

_Sorry the last chapter was so short; I know it's a little confusing now but_

_everything will start coming together from about chapter 10 onwards I promise! Thanks as ever for your comments, please continue reviewing! _

**Chapter 7**

**July 2004, Location unknown.**

He was 7 years old again, trapped in that damned cellar. He was sitting against the wall, his hands tied together with a length of old rope that smelled of horses, that strong pungent smell that he got whenever he went to stay on his grandfathers farm.

Except he wasn't 7 years old and he wasn't in a cellar. But where the hell was he?

Dammit.

Martin Fitzgerald cursed his weaknesses, cursed himself for getting into this situation. He should have been more careful, should have watched his back.

He moved slightly but the pain that went coursing through his head told him that wasn't such a good idea. 'Ow, dammit'. He looked down; his ankles were bound with what looked like fishing line only a lot stronger. He suspected the same thing was around his wrists which were behind his back, but he had little circulation to his hands.

For the moment he just lay there in the dark. He couldn't help the little voice in his head what kept screaming at him 'You should have told Jack, told Danny, you know you should have. They would have watched your back, they wouldn't have judged you, not now'

But he hadn't, he hadn't told them about Jameson or his Mom or what happened, and when he found out that Jameson was on parole he hadn't told them that either.

"Why?" Stupid Fitzgerald stubbornness and pride. Not wanting to seem weak. Not again. They already knew too much, too much about this father, about their relationship. He'd messed up too many times and he didn't want them to look at him that way again? That 'what would you expect from a rookie' look, or the 'deputy directors kid, probably asked Daddy for the job' look.

Except they didn't, Jack, Samantha, Vivian, even Danny. They weren't like that anymore. Sure in the beginning they thought he was a fool, that he wouldn't last more than five minutes. But he proved them wrong, didn't he? He got some stuff right and he really felt like, well, one of the team.

Which brought him back to the same question, why didn't he tell them?

Because somehow and somewhere deep inside of him he'd buried it, all of it, the kidnapping, those long weeks being tied up in the small dusty, damp cellar, the endless cold, the hunger, the boredom and the fear. Fear of the dark, fear of the insects the crawled around, fear of the mice that would come out at night to look at him and run over feet.

Fear of the man that came only twice a day with food, the man who didn't speak except when martin had done something wrong, had tried to take of his ropes, or cried so loudly that the man had heard him through the floor.

He'd buried it all, buried it in 2 years of very, very expensive therapy and a lifetime trying to forget. Because that part hadn't even been the worst, the cold, the hunger, the fear, it wasn't the worst. The worst had been coming home in the police car, getting out at this front gate and even though he could barely walk making his way up the driveway as fast as he could, up to the door where she should have been standing there to take pick him up in her arms and tell her she loved him.

Sitting there, all those long weeks, Marty has pictured the scene over and over again, the smell of his Mom's shampoo, the joy of being in her arms, of being safe.

Sitting there now; a grown man, his ribs aching from where they'd connected with Jameson's baseball bat, the grown up Martin Fitzgerald still felt the sadness welling up inside of him when he remembered standing with his father in his study and being told to 'Be Brave', that his Mom simply hadn't been able to wait any longer.

_It wasn't my fault, it wasn't my fault. _He felt like he'd spent his whole life trying to convince himself of that. Noone blamed him, how could they? No-one. Not even his Dad.

Right?

'Get a grip Fitzgerald, you're losing it' He shook his head and once again banished the memories back into their little box and turned the key. For now he had to get out of here and quick. Stan Jameson was most definitely a man on the edge if the pain in Martin's ribs was anything to judge by. The blood now congealing on the side of his face was courtesy of Jameson too, that time blow to his right eye which was now completely swollen shut.

He wasn't going to lie there for weeks on end though, not this time. He wasn't going to wait to be rescued either. Martin felt the glimmerings of an idea spring into his mind. And then he began to yell as loudly as was possible even with his pounding head.

"HEYYYYY HELLLLP HELP ME PLEASE? IS ANYONE OUT THERE? I'M TRAPPED I'VE BEEN TRAPPED BY A MADMAN! HEEEEEELLLLLLLPPPPPPP" He stopped and listened.

Immediately he was rewarded by the sound of footsteps loud in the corridor outside and the door of his room was flung open violently.

Stan Jameson had not aged well. Only 19 when he had initially kidnapped Martin he was now closer to forty and his receding hairline, missing teeth and a litany of scars running across both cheeks told of prison years that had not been happily spent.

"Shut the fk up Fitzgerald you shit" the words came out accommpanied by a long string of spittle, most of which landed on the trousers of Martin's Calvin Klein suit.

"Hey, that's my best suit, watch it." Martin was trying to sound cocky, confident. He hoped he was pulling it off, because it wasn't at all how he felt,

"I'll show you and your big mouth." Jamson pulled Martin to his feet. "Come on pretty boy, we're going for a walk."

'_Perfect' _though Martin Fitzgerald to himself as he was dragged out of the room. '_Just perfect'_


	8. Chapter 8

_Hi all, Ah reviews, the happiest part of my days…you guys are the best! I know I said it before, but honestly, thanks so much to everyone…pealee, i'm glad people arent totally confused! As for Martin, he may be in for a rough time I'm afraid…._

**Chapter 8**

**July 2004 **

"Patrick Jameson?" Jack held out his badge to the man standing behind a half open door. "Jack Malone, FBI."

The door closed and Jack could hear various bolts and chains being maneuvered until eventually the door opened enough to allow him to step into the hall of the 3rd floor Queens apartment.

"It's about Michael isn't it? That boy has been nothing but trouble since the day he was born; I swear to God sometimes I wish he weren't my own." Mr. Jameson's voice was rattley, and the cloud of smoke that Jack walked into in the living room was some clue as to why. His voice still had faint traces of the man's Irish accent. He was about 70, Jack guessed, and had at one time been tall, although he was bent over so much now that it was hardly obvious anymore. The older man sat down heavily on an armchair and indicated another to Jack.

"So what's he done now, huh? It must be pretty bad to get the FBI involved. I swear to you, I did my best for that boy, after his mother passed on, Lord have mercy on her….."

"Mr. Jameson" Jack intervened. "I'm not here about your son Michael, it's about Stan.

"What about him?" Patrick Jameson's voice changed and became almost defensive. "He was in prison, last I heard. Best place for him too, disgracing the family like that. Broke his mother's heart he did. That's what carried her off you know, all the reporters outside asking questions about how she could raise her son to become a kidnapper and saying that we all knew where that boy was all along, but sure how could we? He never came home all that time, we weren't to know…"

Again Jack had to cut across the man. "Mr. Jameson, your son was released almost three months ago. We believe he might be involved in the disappearance of an FBI officer.

"Well I can't help you. As far as I'm concerned the boy might as well be dead. I want nothing to do with him, and I told him as much when he went insi…." At this point however, the man started coughing, a loud wheezy cough that could only be brought about by years of smoking. Jack watched as he stood up, still coughing and walked over to a nearby table on which there stood an open bottle of whiskey.

"Care for some?" he motioned towards Jack.

"Bit early in the day for me." Jack noted the large tumbler full that the man poured himself, almost a quarter of the bottle.

"When you get to my age, sure what else have you, I only have the two sons and neither of them are worth much, my wife's dead. Sure what else can I do Mr. Malone?. The man was almost challenging Jack.

Jack sighed inwardly, cursing this man and his wasted journey. "So you can't give me any information on where your son might be? And he hasn't tried to contact you at all?"

The man shook his head before gulping down the tumbler full of whiskey and pouring another.

"Told you, didn't I? I don't know and I don't care." Now if that's all you came for you know where the door is."

Jack stood up and started towards the hall, before pausing. He stood for a moment and then spoke. "The missing FBI agent, his name is Martin Fitzgerald."

He paused again and waited. After what seemed an eternity Jameson spoke.

"Marty….you mean the boy?"

Jack turned and looked directly at Patrick Jameson. "Not a boy anymore, but yes. We believe that Stan blames Agent Fitzgerald or his father for what happened and is planning to use Martin somehow. We have no idea where they might be though and we are running out of time. If you could help us at all Mr. Jameson………. Please" he added.

"I liked the boy. I saw him on the T.V …after….when they found him. He never cried, not once. Plucky kid you know…" I was sorry about his mother; she looked like a beautiful lady."

Again there was a momentary silence. The old man was obviously thinking…deciding. Jack just stood, waiting.

Patrick Jameson sighed heavily before continuing. "One of the neighbors told me that she saw Stan a couple of weeks back. He was staying with a guy called Jim something or other...his parents have a launderette over on 5th and Harper.

"Thank you." Jack had his phone to his ear before he was through the front door. "Danny? You and Sam meet me at a launderette in Queens, 5th and Harper"

&&&&&&&&&&

The apartment over the launderette was a mess. "Either they were robbed, or there's been one hell of an argument here." Danny Taylor picked his way across the strewn furniture, broken glass and assorted other rubble. They all had their guns drawn, but the cold silence of the apartment indicated that no-one was home."

"What did the girlfriend say?" Jack asked as be began rooting through some papers on the floor.

"Ex-girlfriend" Sam replied. "Not a lot to be honest. Apparently she stopped visiting Stan more than ten years ago and has nothing more to do with him. I believe her too. She's married now with a child."

"We have a body!" Danny called out and Jack and Sam both made their way into the bedroom where Danny was kneeling beside a man of about 30 who was lying on the floor. He checked for breathing and then for a pulse. "He's alive."

As Sam called for assistance the man started to stir.

"Easy, Jim, right?" The man nodded. "Jim you're ok; there's an ambulance on its way." Danny grabbed a towel from the floor and pressed it on a nasty gash on the man's forehead. "What happened?"

With Danny's assistance the man, 'Jim' or so they presumed, pulled himself up until he was leaning against the end of the bed.

"I dunno, he just went crazy" The man began, "He disappeared for a couple of days and then came back yesterday and said he'd taken some cop. I tried to stop him, told him he'd be back in the slammer for good, but he wouldn't listen, I tried to take the gun off him and he just lost it, he went for me."

"Stan Jameson, is that who you are talking about?" Danny knew the answer but had to ask the question nonetheless.

"Yeah, yeah, Stan. He's been crashing here since he got out. I thought he was ok, you know, he got a job, he even started seeing some girl, he was getting it together. Then last weekend he saw the father of that kid on the news… Victor something or other……and its like he snapped or something."

'_Victor something or other………' _So it was true. Jameson had Martin. What had been up to this point a 'maybe' suddenly became a definite. Danny looked at Jack,

"If you knew this last week, then why didn't you tell someone back then….why……" Danny began, his voice rising as worry and realization took hold.

"Taylor, go check for that ambulance." Jack's voice was firm. "NOW" he continued checking any protest that Danny might have made.

Danny stood up and glared at his superior before storming out of the bedroom. Jack sighed quietly before turning his attention to the by now nervous man before him.

"He didn't tell me anything, honest I swear." Jim began. "I thought he was just blowing off steam, you know. I didn't think he'd do anything crazy like that. I don't know where he'd go."

"You said he had a girlfriend" Sam asked having finished searching the bedroom. "Do you know who she is?"

She was just finishing scribbling down the name and discription when the paramedics arrived they were ushered out of the room.

Back on the street Danny was pacing up and down the sidewalk. "Would you stop" Jack chastised him, "You're making me dizzy, what the hell is wrong with you anyway?"

"I…….nothin, it doesn't matter. What next?" was Danny's reply. But his eyes were troubled.

Jack knew what was wrong with him, the same thing that was wrong with them all, but no-one was going to admit. Guilt. A strange, possibly misplaced guilt. After all they had done nothing wrong. Martin should have told them, should have said he was in danger. It wasn't their place to pry and anyway, the man was like a closed book at time.

But then, no-one really asked either.

"Sam can you meet up with Viv, see what she found out, and then find out everything you can about Stan's time inside, the friends he had, what he did, who he contacted outside, visitors, you name it. Danny, you and I are going to see this girl.

Sam was turning to leave when Jack spoke again. "I spoke to Mrs Fitzgerald earlier."

He wasn't going to tell them, but he thought it would help, let them know what they were up against.

"She told me that Martin never spoke about what happened, exept to a psychiatrist, and even then very little. She married Victor just over a year after it happened. So far as she can tell Victor just tried to erase every trace of the event, he refused to speak about it and refused to speak about Martin's mother also. It seems that he thought he could bury it and everything would be forgotten." Jack paused briefly before continuing "He also sought to ensure that Stan Jameson remined in prison for the longest time possible, challenging every parole hearing and creating as much red tape as he could."

"So in other words Jameson has a reason to be pissed" Danny looked at Jack. "Well done Victor".

"Yeah, well he had his reasons." Was all Jack replied as he sat into the driver seat of his car. "Let's just get on with it."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

**May 2004 Bullpen**

"Fitzgerald, my office."

Martin rolled his eyes to heaven as they others shot him looks of sympathy and mild amusement. They were three words that they had all become used to hearing over the past year and a half.

The newest member of the team had proven himself as a good agent and a valuable member of the team but he still managed to get into all sorts of trouble.

He stood up, glad that his hands had stopped shaking. When he'd heard the news about Jameson only a couple of hours earlier his reaction had been more violent that even he himself had expected, but in true Fitzgerald form he'd pushed it to the back of his mind.

Now they had to find Annette Woodward. They had finally tracked down Professor Calbraith, her old college professor with whom it would appear Annette had some kind of relationship and he was being brought in for questioning.

Jack didn't look up at Martin as he walked into his office, closing the door behind him.

"Where were you, earlier" Jack's voice was clipped, but not angry as Martin had expected.

"Meeting my father, I told you." He shouldn't be so defensive, but something in Jack's tone puzzled the young agent.

"Well I don't like it when my agent is not available to me on my time." Still Jack didn't look up.

Martin didn't reply, he was getting angry, he knew he was, but he wasn't going to shoot his mouth off, not again.

"Sit down. Will you," Jack finally looked up from his paperwork. "You're making me nervous standing there." He waiting till Martin was sitting on the brown leather covered chair before continuing. "Look, you know that your father rang me, right?"

Martin simply nodded. He wasn't going to argue, he wasn't going to shoot his mouth off again. If Jack Malone didn't think he was good enough then fine, he'd leave. He wouldn't do it to please his father, but Martin Fitzgerald believed in Jack Malone, he knew that if that man said he wasn't good enough, that was the truth.

"I told him that I was capable of managing my own staff and that his assistance wasn't required." Jack couldn't help smiling at the look of relief that came over the younger agents face. But he wasn't going to let him go that easily.

"Don't get too comfortable, you've made some pretty big f&&k ups here, and a lot of departments would have thrown you out on your ass already." He paused before adding, "but it'll be me who does it, and not Victor Fitzgerald."

"Yeah, thanks." Martin stood up to leave.

"You look like shit by the way." Jack said to the retreating figure. "You catch some kind of a cold or something?"

Martin paused. Part of him was screaming to '_Tell Jack, tell him about Jameson, tell him you're scared, go on…tell him,' _But the Fitzgerald in him invariably won over.

"Yeah, it's probably just a bug." he mumbled, closing the office door behind him.

Jack couldn't help shaking his head as he watched the door closed. Martin Fitzgerald had a lot to learn but his instincts told him that the young man was good, very good. He just needed the sharp edges smoothed a little.

"Calbraith's in interrogation." Samantha Spade looked up as Martin came out of Jack's office. She was the only member of the team to remain in the bullpen. "Danny and Viv are in with him now."

Martin nodded. He was still feeling slightly queasy and his legs were shaking ever so slightly. He nodded at the stack of papers in front of Sam, trying to shake off the heavy weight that had descended on him and was refusing to go away.

"What have you there?" He indicated the papers spread all across the conference table.

"I'm trying to find some kind of a pattern in Annette Hooper's cell phone records. She made over 300 calls in total to Dr Calbraith, most of them in the evening time, but there were also a couple of calls made early in the morning, usually about 5am, all made to a public phone box on 73rd Street.

"Karl Woodward."

Sam nodded. "Seems like it."

"Why would she be calling him there at 5 in the morning?" Martin mused.

"Maybe she was feeling frisky" Sam teased. Martin gave an almost involuntary laugh, and felt some of the tension that had being weighing down all morning lift. He liked Samantha, she was a little like him, a closed book. Maybe someday they would get to know each other a little better. Maybe.

"That looks cozy"…… Danny Taylor walked in to the bullpen and sat down at the conference table, grinning at Martin's reddening cheeks.

"So, what's the professor saying?" Sam asked, changing the subject.

"Quite a lot actually." Viv had come in behind Danny. "According to the professor, Annette and Karl were blackmailing him. He was her tutor as well as her professor, and they were having weekly meetings all related to her coursework. Apparently Annette's coursework which was usually brilliant was beginning to slacken and her papers were becoming more and more sloppy. She was skipping lectures and looked like she was going to flunk her exams."

Not quite the brilliant student and all round star that we had been led to believe she was" remarked Jack Malone, joining them.

"Its gets better." Danny interrupted. "Its seems that during one of their tutoring sessions about five months ago Annette made a pass at the good professor which he, being a hot-blooded male gave in to. Nothing much happened, but as he is married with three kids, naturally the professor was anxious to keep the whole thing quiet."

"Let me guess, she started blackmailing him." Sam walked over to Annette Hooper's picture hanging on the whiteboard. "It's always the quiet ones" she mused…

"Got it in one, the oldest trick in the book and he fell for it, or so he says. They've apparently been extracting sums of money from the professor ever since, up until a week ago that is."

"They?...being Annette and Karl I presume?" Martin asked.

Vivian nodded. "And according to the Professor Annette's work and her general appearance and attitude has continued on its downwards spiral."

"Drugs?" Sam asked

"Probably" Jack walked over to another desk and began rifling through some files. "If I remember correctly, Karl Woodward did a couple of months inside for dealing about eight years ago." He turned to Danny and Viv. "What do you think, is this guy telling the truth?"

"I think so." Vivian replied.

"Well in that case I guess we bring Mr. Woodward in and let the Professor go home. He turned to Martin who, although still pale looked slightly better than earlier. "Martin, you and Sam head over there now and bring him in" Sam nodded and headed for the door, Martin following. towards the door.

"Fitzgerald?" Jack called after them. "Get your ass to a doctor afterwards; I don't want you spreading germs around my team."

Martin nodded, and smiled slightly. Heading down to the lift and into the underground car park though, he couldn't help looking over his shoulder before getting into the passenger seat of Sam's car.

Going to the doctor wasn't going to solve this problem, that Martin Fitzgerald was sure of.


	10. Chapter 10

_Hey everyone, sorry for the delay in posting, I warn you I might have gone a little overboard on the angst in this chapter, but I couldn't help myself..As ever review, review!_

**Chapter 10**

**July 2004 Location still unknown**

_Maybe it wasn't such a good idea after all. _

Martin Fitzgerald winced as he stumbled over yet another fallen branch, causing his bruised and possibly cracked ribs to hurt even more than they had previously. It was dark and a slight drizzle had started to fall. The cloudy sky was moonless and Martin, his hands tied behind his back was finding it almost impossible to keep his balance as he made his way through the densely wooded darkness…

'_Typical, I always get the scary movie storyline. Stuck in the middle of the woods. If this guy wasn't such a total psychopath he would be a total cliché'. _Martin was trying to bolster his by now severely waning courage. But it wasn't working.

All this time Jameson was behind him, pushing Martin ahead, his gun in one hand. He was taller than Martin although slightly bulkier; his upper body spoke of many years spent in a prison gym. His brown hair, now streaked with grey came down almost to his shoulders and his eyes, the few glimpses Martin had of them, were a strange luminescent green.

His idea earlier had been to goad Jameson, to use the man's anger to his advantage. Martin Fitzgerald knew that he was being kept alive for a purpose, but at this moment in time he was no closer to figuring out what that is. He'd hoped that by goading Jameson the man would let something slip.

'_It was a good idea at the time,' _he thought. But now…maybe not so much. Now he was stuck in the middle of god knows where and with a gun toting psychopath who was pushing him through the woods. And all this simply to get revenge?

"Is that what this is about? Revenge" Martin ventured out loud, turning as best he could to look at his captor. "Is that your big plan? Get out of jail and wreak havoc on the people that you think ruined your life"

But there was no reply; in fact Martin couldn't remember hearing the man speak once all this time. Three days and not one word.

"I was only a kid for god's sake." He ventured. "What did I know?"

Nothing.

Just like the last time.

So Martin gave up, and concentrated on not falling over. His suit jacket and cream shirt were both soaked through and he could feel the cold wind that whipped around him. Despite his best efforts to stay calm, to try and not let the fear creep back inside of him, still it came.

He'd forgotten what it felt like to be so totally helpless. And to know it was mostly his own doing. Stubborn pride. What good was that? He'd been thought never to fear, that fear was foolish. But trudging through that forest, with his head throbbing and his lungs feeling like they were on fire, Martin Fitzgerald felt a lot like 7 year old Marty all over again.

Within a few minutes, Martin could see the outline of a van parked in a small clearing. He felt the pressure on his back lessen and turned his head around just in time to see a fist connecting with his left cheek. Slumping to the ground helplessly, Martin couldn't help wondering, as the blackness invaded him, just how wrong he'd been.

&&&&&&&

'Marty' had been gone for almost five weeks. Five weeks of…what? Of always being just that bit too hungry and too cold, never really cold, never starving, but never comfortable, five weeks of sitting or standing or walking around that little cellar room when he was allowed. Five weeks of being alone. Totally and utterly alone except for insects and rodents, except for his own thoughts.

Five weeks and he hadn't spoken one word, not one. Not to anyone. The man who came down to him once a day never spoke; he just looked, glared, pinched and shoved. Marty wouldn't have even minded if the man had shouted at him. His father shouted a lot and he'd gotten used to it, it didn't even scare him anymore.

Silence didn't scare him either, usually. When he was playing in the garden, or up in his room and there were visitors downstairs he had to be quiet. Being quiet was important in the Fitzgerald house. Speak when spoken too, answer all questions politely and then disappear. That was the rule most of the time.

Except when Mom was in charge, then they could play, one day she took the grand mahogany dining table and eight matching chairs and made them a fort, with a heavy damask table cloth providing shelter from the rains, and a shiny silver tray that could be used to slide along the dining room floor if you needed to escape quickly. They played cowboys and Indians. She didn't mind the mess or the noise, so long as it was all cleaned up before seven o clock. He'd chatter away to his Mom non-stop all day long.

That day, the last day of the fifth week, when they came and they found him he couldn't speak, his throat was dry and his voice hoarse. They said that he was in shock and they took him to hospital and kept him there for three days. The nurses fussed over him, told him what a brave boy he was and gave him ice-cream instead of dinner. He couldn't understand though, why his mom didn't come to visit him.

And then he went home and still he couldn't understand why his Mom wasn't at the door and why all those reporters kept shouting and trying to take his picture

And so, he left the hospital and came home, and that day his Dad took him into the study to tell him what had happened……

……the reporters stayed around the house for almost a week. His father did his best to get rid of them, talked to every lawyer in the land, tried to get injunctions to stop them printing stories about Martin about…what had happened. But he couldn't, no one could Soon everyone knew, everyone knew that Little Marty Fitz had killed his mommy. For that's what he thought, that was the only way he could rationalise it in his head. His mom was dead because he didn't come home.

His mom was dead because of him


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

**Early June 2004. **

"I don't get it," Samantha Spade mused out loud as she negotiated the heavy midtown traffic. "Why would someone like Annette Hooper, young, intelligent, her whole life ahead of her, why throw it away on Karl Woodward and drugs?"

There was no reply from the passenger seat and Sam looked over at Martin who was staring out the window, seemingly lost in his own thoughts.

"Martin"

He jumped slightly and looked over at her, "Sorry, I was, um, thinking, what were you saying?" He coughed again, clearing his throat, trying to gather his thoughts away from 20 years previously and onto the case.

"I SAID; why would Annette Hooper throw everything away on drugs?"

Martin shook his head slightly, trying to clear his foggy mind. "Well, that women for you….." he ventured, purposefully teasing the blond agent. She merely shot him a scalding look which he couldn't help smiling at.

"Seriously though, I don't really know" Martin continued. "Maybe she thought she was in love with him, I mean she is 28 in a class of 20 year olds and according to her classmates she was a bit of a loner, maybe she found it hard to mix and Karl picked up on that."

"Preyed on it you mean." Sam commented, pulling into a vacant parking space on 71st.

As they got out of the car she too noticed how pale Martin was. "You really should go see a doctor later on" she said as they made their way towards Karl Woodward's building "I've seen milk cartons with more color."

Martin smiled and nodded, he was about to say that he would, but never got the change for at that exact moment a young man with a gun in his left hand came bursting through the steps of the apartment block the two agents had been about to enter and went tearing down the street!

Their reaction was instinctive, both agents turned and whipped out their guns. Martin yelled "FBI! Freeze!"

The man halted, started to run again, but then obviously thought better of it and, dropping the gun on the ground in front of him he raised his hands about his head. "Stay still" Martin ordered as he walked up to the man, picking up the gun carefully and putting it in his jacket pocket.

A black and white pulled up alongside them and two police officers emerged. Martin handed the man over to their custody before following Sam inside the apartment block; he found her waiting on him outside Karl Woodward's apartment door which was ajar.

On three they entered, guns pointed. The apartment however was in total silence, except for the sound of water trickling. Martin followed the sound into the bathroom, where he found a man lying face down on the bathroom floor in an ever increasing pool of blood. He turned the man over, and felt for a pulse, but the man was obviously dead. Karl Woodward.

"Well, it doesn't look like he is going to be much help to us now." Sam commented, standing at the bathroom door. "I'll call it in."

"And I'll have a look around the late Mr Woodward's apartment." Martin stood up and reached into this pocket for the gloves which all agents carried with them for that purpose.

An hour later Martin joined Vivian who was looking through the two way mirror into interrogation room two. The man Martin and Sam had arrested was sitting across from Jack and Danny, his expression blank, neutral, showing no emotion.

"So what's this guy saying?" Martin asked as he studied the figure sitting on the other side of the glass.

"His name is Jack Crenshaw. And he's not saying much, Just that he didn't do it." Vivian motioned to the two way mirror. "That's the only thing he will say. Danny's tried coaxing him, Jack got angry, nothing. Did you find anything in Karl Woodward's apartment?"

"Some traces of cocaine, and signs that he'd been dealing it, possibly from the apartment." Martin replied. "We also found women's clothing in the bedroom and in the laundry basket, looks like Annette moved in."

"So do you think that's what this is about?" Viv asked. "Maybe Woodward owed somebody money? It doesn't help us find Annette."

"Maybe it does." Sam entered the room, an open file in her hand. "Annette Hooper was arrested 11 years ago in Boise, Idaho for possession of Marijuana. She got off with a fine, but the guy she was arrested with was…" She paused.

"Jack Crenshaw." Vivian supplied.

"Bingo" Sam handed the files over to Martin. "I think we need to talk to Jack and Danny."

Just then, Martins phone rang. He handed the paper's over to Vivian before answering. "Hello?"

There was silence at the other end.

Instantly alert, Martin motioned to the others before walking out into the corridor. "Hello, who is this?" he asked again.

There was silence again before the phone clicked.

"Dammit!" Martin punched the wall nearest him in sheer frustration. It was him, he knew it. He'd gotten his phone number somehow. "Dammit, dammit" he repeated to himself, softly this time.

"Hey, who rained on your parade?" Danny Taylor was walking up the corridor towards him.

"Ah… nothing" he mumbled.

"Let me guess, girl trouble? Some poor cheerleader fallen for the Fitzgerald charm only to be left sittin' on the sideline, right?" Danny teased.

Martin fell into step with the dark haired agent, clearing the lump that formed in his throat before attempting a smile. "Yeah, something like that."

"Yeah well Crenshaw's just given us a lead to Annette." Danny continued, not failing to notice Martin's even more ashen countenance.

"It seems that they lost contact after the trial 11 years ago and met up just 3 months ago, he saw that Annette was in a bad way. She told him that Woodward had gotten her back on drugs; cocaine, even heroine and how they were bribing the professor for money. She also said that Woodward was beating her."

"Which is why he went over there with the gun." Martin ventured.

"So he says. He also said that he wasn't going to kill the guy, just scare him, but when he got there, Woodward was dead"

"And Annette was gone." Martin looked at Danny. "Does that mean that……"

"That Annette Hooper is the main suspect in the murder of Karl Woodward." Danny finished the sentence for him; the expression on his face was grim. "Seems so. If he was beating her…maybe she didn't know any other way out…" his voice trailed off. "In any case, Crenshaw thinks she might have gone to her aunts house, so that's where we're going now."

Martin nodded. They were heading out the main door of the FBI headquarters when his phone rang again. He blanched visibly and could feel his stomach flipping. Danny looked at him curiously. "you answering that?" he asked.

Martin opened the phone and surveyed the number, _Unknown._ He cancelled the call, his hand far from steady.

"You ok man?" Danny stopped and caught Martin by the arm, only to have it shaken away almost violently.

"I'm fine, why does everyone keep asking that, its just a bug or something, ok ill sleep it off later."

Danny put up his two hands in defense. "Okay, cool, I was just askin."

"Yeah…thanks……lets find Annette first, huh"? Martin looked over at Danny, silently willing him not to press it any further.

"Sure" Danny sat into the passanger seat of Martin's dark grey sedan. '_But I'm not letting this drop' _he thought silently to himself.


	12. Chapter 12

_Hey everyone, sorry for the delay, if only I could win the lottery and give up my day job. Thanks so much for your reviews; I too love a bit of Martin Angst!_

**Chapter 12**

**July 2004 **

There was silence in the small dimly lit café save the click of coffee cups, Jack drained the last of his coffee cup and pushed away his half eaten french fries. Danny was sitting staring at this plate, and Jack knew the dark haired agent was still trying to understand why Martin Fitzgerald had left them in the dark for so long.

"You know staring at the burger isn't gonna get it inside of you any quicker." Jack was rewarded with a half smile from the younger man.

"You know, beating yourself up isn't going to help." Jack ventured. "We didn't know, none of us, and we maybe never would have if this hadn't happened. Hell we all have shit in our pasts we'd rather forget, "Jack paused briefly. "You included Taylor."

"Yeah, but that was an accident" Danny looked over at his boss, "There was nothing anyone could do." he continued, referring to his parent's death in a road accidents many years previously. "This, this is sick…… Jameson is one sick b&&&&&d, using a kid like that. And as for old man Fitzgerald…" here Danny trailed off before continuing in a quieter voice.

"Look, I know shit happens Jack but I wish, I don't know, that he'd felt he could tell us. He obviously didn't. And even with that mighty stick up his ass he's still a colleague, hell, a friend."

There was an awkward pause, filled with the shrill sounds of a cell phone ringing. Jack put the phone to his ear.

"Malone…………….uh huh………you got an address?...ok yeah thanks…"

Danny leaned over the desk to see what Jack was scribbling on the paper napkin in front of him. He looked up as his boss flipped his phone shut and, rising took a twenty dollar bill out of his wallet and left it on the table.

"We got a name and possible address for Jameson's girlfriend." …

&&&&&&

Sam and Vivian meanwhile were sitting across from a giant. Or at least that was the best way that Sam could describe him later. Antonio Marquis was 6ft 6 inches tall and probably weighed 250 pounds in his stocking feet. He was completely bald and every available inch of his body save his face was completely covered in tattoos. Snakes ran down both arms and a huge cobweb covered the back and top of his head.

All of which made it practically impossible for either agent to keep a straight face when the man spoke, his voice was as soft and feminine as either of theirs!

He told the two agents very little. Yes, he had shared a cell with Stan Jameson for almost three years now. No, he didn't really know him that well, Jameson was very quiet as a rule, he kept himself to himself. Yes he did talk about the kidnapping and what had happened, but never mentioned Martin or never said anything to make Marquis believe that he was looking for revenge. Jameson worked in the kitchen and in the library, he read a lot, so much so that some of the inmates had nicknamed him 'Bookie'

"All in all it would seem that Jameson was pretty much a reformed character" Vivian said half an hour later as the two agents made their way down the long corridors that led out of the prison.

"So it would seem," Sam agreed. "Hardly the kind of man that would bash his old flat mate over the head and then kidnap someone. But then maybe our big friendly giant there wasn't telling the truth."

"Maybe" Viv nodded. "But I think he was. You never do know though, Jameson might have been keeping it all in, you know, storing up all that anger and resentment all these years."

"Which doesn't help us find Martin." Sam looked glum.

"No." Vivian sighed. "I wish he'd been a little less stubborn about all this."

"That's Martin for you, why share something when you can deal with it yourself, why open up? And it's not as if any of us probed too deeply either. I mean I just thought he was ill, you know... he was pale and quiet, I just thought it was the flu…." she trailed off…"It's been five days."

"Martins a good agent, he's clever, he knows that he has to cooperate with whoever has him, I'm sure he wont do anything to jeopardize himself and further….." she caught the look of disbelief in Samantha's eyes at her words. "At least I hope not." she concluded.

&&&&&&

The house on Delmar Avenue was empty and looked like it had been for sometime now. A couple of the upstairs windows were broken and as they walked up the front steps Danny could see a piece of torn net curtain blowing through cracks in the glass.

"Doesn't look like anyone has lived here for a while." The agent commented as they knocked on the front door, which swung open obligingly for them.

Inside everything was completely covered in dust, the battered armchairs and carpets stank of stale urine and were covered in stains. Syringes, used condoms and trash lay think on the floor. Jack wrinkled his nose up in distaste. "Seems like someone IS living here, although I can't say I think a lot of their housekeeping skills.

"I'll check upstairs" Danny motioned toward the rickety staircase and as he made his way up kept one hand on his gun. He wasn't prepared the sight of a young woman lying curled up in a ball on a old dirty mattress in one of the bedrooms. Her hair, long and lank had obviously not been washed for weeks. Danny squatted down beside the girl and reached out one arm towards her hesitantly.

Instinctively the girl cowered and shrank further back against the wall.

"Hey, look I'm an FBI agent, my names Danny, I want to help you. What's your name?" He showed the girl his badge as he spoke.

She looked up, and her face was a mass of bruising, similarly there were ligature marks across her neck. Danny sucked in his breath inwardly cursing whoever had done that to the girl.

"What happened to you?" he asked.

The girl, looking Danny up and down, obviously believed him, for she started to speak slowly and deliberately. She was probably no more than 17 or 18 with a strong Southern accent.

"This guy, he came in shoutin' and yellin', said he was lookin' for someone. I…I was here on my own, my boyfriend, he went off a few days back, ain't seem him since...This guy he was crazy, he started beatin on me cos I didn't know where his brother was, like it was ma fault.

"His brother?" Danny looked confused. "Are you Stan Jameson's girlfriend?"

The girl nodded. "Uh huh, I met him the day he got out of prison, he was so sweet and nice and he told me he was straight and he was stayin' with some friend of his, he wuz gonna take me outta here, but then he just took off one day and didn't come back."

"And this guy who came round and did this to you?" Danny motioned to the bruises.

"I think it wuz his brother, he said he had one… Michael or something…apparently he ain't all there in the head, least that's what Stan said…… they don't get on, somethin' about what Stan did and how it ruined the family…"

A creak behind them made the girl jump and Danny saw Jack standing there, a strange expression on his face…." He motioned the younger agent out into the hall.

"What's up?" Danny asked, noting Jack's asked expression….

"Just got a call from NYPD, they found a body three blocks from here."

"Not….."Danny began, but he couldn't bring himself to say it…

"No, not Martin……." Jack paused, noting the agents sigh of relief… "According to his ID, its Stan Jameson…."


	13. Chapter 13

_Okay, okay, I am officially a bad person, its been so long since I posted a chapter, but I do read all your reviews everyday and treasure them, they are fuel for more writing, its just that my muse has gone for a mini break…lol…. The good news that the next chapter is nearly finished too! Thanks as ever for all reviews._

**Chapter 13**

Janette Hooper was 84, and although spry for her age, she did suffer from a heart condition that meant she couldn't be subjected to too much stress.

The sudden arrival of her niece at her back door crying hysterically and covered in blood followed by the arrival of 2 FBI officers didn't help her condition.

Janette had been worrying about her niece for some time, and the once bright medical student had of late become withdrawn and pale, she was thin and continually seemed to be short of money. As her only relative in the city Mrs. Hooper naturally felt an obligation to the girl and frequently helped her out with money from the pension she received each week.

But this, this was too much.

"Please m'am have you seen Annette?" Danny Taylor was quickly losing his patience, although he tried not to raise his voice. "Look, we your niece is in quite a lot of trouble right now and she needs help. We've been looking for her for some time now."

The old lady sat down heavily in an armchair. She couldn't do it, could she? Annette was family, she couldn't betray her like this, could she?

"Mrs Hooper." Martin squatted down in front of her; he could see that the elderly lady was in distress.

"Annette had gotten herself into some trouble, but we know it wasn't all her doing, she was coerced into some of it, and the courts will know that too. She's sick, and she would be better off in custody now than on the streets. He paused and stood up before adding. "Sometimes you have to do what's best for the ones you love."

Mrs Hooper looked up into the blue eyes of the man in front of her and saw reflected in them her own anguish. Suddenly though, she was also afraid, what if………

"Annette was here about a half hour ago, she changed her clothes…… I…… I don't know where she is." Her voice faltered however at the end, and Danny and Martin exchanged a knowing look.

Annette Hooper was in the house.

"Thank you, Mrs Hooper." Martin smiled at the old lady. "We'll let you know what happens."

Janice Hooper couldn't do it though, there had been something in that young man's eyes, he knew, he knew she was lying and he knew why…

They were making their way to the door when Mrs Hooper spoke. "Wait. She had a gun……Annette….she was carrying a gun". The old lady motioned to the back kitchen as she spoke.

Martin nodded and quietly and quickly he and Danny drew their weapons and headed one either side of the kitchen door. They didn't make it that far though, a strung out and very volatile Annette emerged from the kitchen, gun pointed towards her Aunt.

"Get out….get out NOW!" she screamed. "Or I'll kill her, I swear to you I will."

Immediately both Danny and Martin lowered their weapons. Danny started towards the girl, walking slowly.

"Annette, you wouldn't do that, I know it. I know you've gotten into some trouble but Annette, we know it wasn't all your fault, and whatever happens you need some help."

She didn't move, but the hand holding the gun started to shake violently. If the safety catch wasn't on it could go off at anytime. Martin too stepped forward.

"Danny's right, Annette, I mean things look bad now, sure, but think about it, you were out of your mind on drugs, you didn't know what you were doing, maybe It was self defence, you might get a few months in prison and you can come off drugs, start again."

"Please." Danny said stepping slowly closer.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, Annette Hooper lowered her arm and the gun dropped harmlessly to the floor.

"I'm sorry" she sobbed, turning to her aunt, I wouldn't have hurt you, I just……I just didn't know what to do…….I feel like I'm trapped in a massive dark abyss and there's no way out"

"There's always a way out." Martin Fitzgerald spoke softly to the girl as he let her out the door of the house.

If only he could believe his own words.

&&&&&&&

He could hear a sound, it was loud, piercing and repetitive and it wouldn't go away. Slowly he cracked open one eye and as the fog began to slowly lift from his brain, Martin Fitzgerald realised that it was the sound of his cell-phone ringing.

With considerable effort he reached over to his bedside table and pressed the green answer button.

"Fitzgerald…" his voice was still sleepy but the sound of Jack Malone's voice quickly roused him.

"Martin, where the hell are you?"

Suddenly realisation began to dawn, as he looked over at his bedside clock which flashed 9.30am.

Shit.

He was meant to have his report on Jack's desk at 8am. Vague memories started coming back, going to the pub with Danny, meeting Jack, Sam and Vivian. He'd only had one or two and then made his way home.

There he'd opened a bottle of wine, and after than another bottle. The look in Annette Hooper's eyes when he arrested he, the naked fear and despair he saw there had brought back too many memories for him.

But Jack was on the phone still, waiting for a reply.

"I'll be there in twenty minutes" Martin's throat hurt and the words came out as a croak.

"You still got that bug?" Jack's voice was softer this time, although only slightly. "Go to the doctor, it's been a week now, and then get your ass in here."

"Yeah, sure." Martin hung up the phone and dragged himself into a sitting position. He scrubbed his hands over his face before letting them drop into his lap disconsolately.

Annette Hooper was found, but would probably end up in prison, although hopefully not for too long. Martin couldn't help feeling sorry for her, alone in a strange city and then hooked on a drug that she couldn't escape from.

But that was the way, some cases ended better than others.

He rose and made his way to the kitchen, but paused when he saw a piece of paper sticking out from under his apartment door.

Martin stooped and picked up the note, opening it as he stood. And then dropped it just as quickly. The paper fluttered to the ground, and lay there, its words staring up at him, mocking him.

_Hi Marty, I called last night but you were asleep…don't worry though, I won't be far away……_


	14. Chapter 14

_Okay, what can I say? I'm a bad person. I made this chapter extra long to make up for the inexcusable delay. Thanks to all reviewers, for your patience as well as your reviews, and thanks especially to those of you that emailed me directly._

**Chapter 13**

**July 2004 **

Jack Malone stood outside the crumbling apartment block and signed deeply. He scrubbed one hand over his face, and for maybe the 10,000th time in his life wished he'd picked a different career, a doctor, teacher, lawyer, anything. At least he'd get some sleep every once in a while, and wouldn't be standing outside an apartment watching the only suspect in the kidnapping and disappearance of one of his team being carted away in a body bag.

He could see his worries reflected in the others as well, in Danny's tightened jaw, Sam's faraway look. Even Vivian, standing apart from them notebook in hand, talking to the coroner.

They weren't given to emotion, none of them, it was necessary in their line of work, and Jack knew that at times he came across as heartless, he also knew that he and Martin had their differences over the past few weeks.

He felt guilty, but then what was the point in guilt?

Jack shook his head, hoping to clear his mind and instead focused on Vivian Johnson who was making his way over to him.

"Death by strangulation, that's the initial finding. According to the coroner he's been dead for at least three days, maybe 4."

"And Martin's been missing for five." Jack couldn't help signing. "Which more or less rules him out."

"Not necessarily" Sam added as she and Danny joined them. "He could have been behind it, I mean it could have been his idea, maybe someone else is involved with him?"

"Look, whatever happened, he's no good to us now." Danny almost snapped.

"Taylor!" Jack's warning tone silenced the younger agent, who threw an apologetic look to the others before continuing. "He's still involved. Everything fits, his getting out of prison, what happened to him, Martin's involvement. Sam, didn't you go through Martins phone records?"

The blond agent nodded. "The calls started about two months ago, from payphones all across the city, they were pretty random and spread out."

"This means there could easily have been more than one person involved." Jack added. "Sam, you and Vivian go back and find Jameson's girlfriend, find out exactly what he did from the time he got out of prison until now. Stan has a brother, seems that he's been in trouble more than once himself, see if the girl knows anything about him."

As Vivian and Sam walked away from the house the body of Stan Jameson was brought out encased in a black body bag and deposited in the back of the waiting ambulance. Danny couldn't help the rising panic he felt inside of him.

He thought back to the last conversation he and Martin had, four days previously, to the obvious worry he had seen reflected in the other's eyes, and to the fact that he had chosen not to pursue it. He was tired; they both were, having flown for four hours previously. But he'd meant to talk to Martin the next day, maybe meet him for breakfast. But instead he'd gotten a phone call from Jack at three a.m. saying Martin's car was found abandoned a block from his apartment and that Martin was nowhere to be found. And now they were standing here.

Jack's voice snapped the dark haired agent back to reality.

"Danny, you and I are bringing Mr Jameson in for questioning. I have a feeling he knows more than he's letting on."

Danny nodded and with one backward glance at the retreating ambulance he followed Jack down the street.

&&&&&&&&&

Patrick Jameson needed a drink. He'd just started his second bottle of whiskey when two NYPD agents arrived and escorted him to the FBI headquarters. Now he was sitting in a small room containing only a table and three chairs, one of which he occupied and the second of which was occupied by Jack Malone.

And his youngest son was dead.

"Mr Jameson, this is Agent Taylor." Jack indicated to Danny who was standing in one corner of the room, arms folded. He had already noted the man's shaking hands, which combined with the obvious sour smell and slightly glazed look in the man eyes pointed to a long term alcoholic. He'd been around a few before.

"Mr Jameson" Jack continued. "Tell me about your sons."

"What's there to tell?" The man looked at Jack, resignation written all over his creased and lined countenance. "Man should be able to be proud of his sons, you know, after their Mom died, there was only the three of us, and I done what I could, but there wasn't much work going, you know. They did what they had to do to survive. I'm not proud of how they turned out, but what could I do? We had to get food, to live somehow.

"So you're saying your son's stole food?" Jack tried to keep his voice neutral.

"Sure, groceries, clothes whatever. Just enough to live on…they were good boys then, even got the odd bottle of something for their old Pop, you know?"

Danny could feel the disgust rising inside of him. "You mean they stole alcohol for you, right?"

The older man whipped his head around. "Sure they did, and I ain't proud of it, but I was ill a lot, you know, I couldn't work."

"I'm sure it was a very difficult time" Danny Taylor's voice dripped sarcasm but Jack didn't rebuke him this time.

"Was that why Stan decided to kidnap Martin?" Jack Malone continued. "For the money. For you?"

"How the hell do I know?" Mr Jameson was getting agitated now. He needed a drink. Badly. "How do I know what went through that boy's head. He was too clever for me, Michael, he worshipped him, would have done whatever Stan told him too….he was so much younger than Stan……"

His voice trailed off.

"Michael, that's Stan's brother?" Jack

Patrick Jameson nodded.

An idea came to Danny Taylor and he walked over to the table and sat down on the edge of it.

"Mr Jameson, was Michael involved, the time Martin Fitzgerald was kidnapped?" He looked directly at the man, his gaze not wavering.

He could almost hear Patrick Jameson decided whether or not to tell the truth, could see the dilemma in the man's eyes.

"Mr Jameson, I know they're your sons, but we have to find out what happened to our colleague and hopefully in the process we can find out what happened to your son."

Patrick Jameson sighed deeply and scrubbed his hand over his face. He was too old for this, too old to lose a son, too old to be sitting here. He just wanted to be left alone.

"Yes." His voice was raspy, as if he was speaking against his will.

"What happened?" Danny pressed.

"Stan, he told Michael to befriend that Fitzgerald kid, they lived just down the road and the kid was always in the garden playing on his own. So Michael and he got friendly, you know and then….

"And then Stan kidnapped Martin." Jack concluded.

"Yeah, something like that." Patrick Jameson mumbled.

"Mr Jameson." Danny stood up, again fixing his gaze on the older man. "Do you think Michael is involved in all this?"

Jack knew where Danny was going with this, but he wasn't sure if the younger agent was taking the right approach.

However in the silence that followed, Patrick Jameson's face twisted up Jack could see the involuntary tears forming in the man's eyes. His shoulders began to shake violently.

For a long time the room was silent, save the sound of Mr Jameson's sobs.

"You don't understand…" the man finally composed himself enough to speak. "You don't understand what its been like. I was ill, I….I couldn't work……Those boys….they were all I had….I wanted them to turn out ok, I didn't want this to happen, any of it….

"Mr Jameson" Danny prompted quietly.

"YES!" the man finally shouted. "Yes, ok, you want to know what I know? Do you? Michael killed Stan, ok? My son killed my other son. Do you understand?"

The same thought came to Danny and Jack at the exact same time, they could see the realisation dawning in each other's eyes.

Stan Jameson had nothing to do with Martin's disappearance, it had been Michael Jameson all along.


	15. Chapter 15

_Keep reviewing, pretty pretty please! You people are the best!_

**Chapter 15**

**End June 2004**

More than three weeks had passed since the arrest of Annette Hooper. She had been remanded to custody pending a full hearing and soon after was released to a drug rehabilitation unit where she would await trial for the manslaughter of Karl Woodward.

It had been a tough case on them all, seeing Annette Hooper reduced to desperation by drugs and the lengths with which she would go to obtain money, and the subsequent testimonies had been time consuming and somewhat soul destroying.

Danny's cold had lingered for more than a fortnight, refusing to clear up, and this had made the usually calm and laid back agent more than usually snappy and bad tempered. Reggie had skipped school and been caught by a neighbour, causing Vivian no end of worry, Sam had her own issues and Jack was wrapped up in family stuff. None of which could be helped, it was just bad timing. But it meant that no one really saw the deterioration in Martin Fitzgerald for what it really was, no one was alert enough to peruse it, to find out what was wrong with the blue eyed man.

Things had quietened down however after a couple of extremely jittery days following the discovery of the note under his door; days when he couldn't walk down the street without keep one hand always close to his gun, looking this way and that, suspecting anyone who so much as looked as him. Nights spent awake listening for a sound at the door, or at a window, flinching almost every time the phone rang. But the phone stopped ringing and no one seemed to be bothering him.

He was able to function normally for the most part, to get through his day to day work without thinking about Jameson or what happened any more than five or six times a day, instead of constantly.

There were new cases, a six year old kid that went missing in the playground seeming right in front of his mother's eyes. Turned out one of the other Mom's had taken him, her only son had been killed a year previously and she was suffering from a form of delusional paranoia. The kid had been found unharmed and reunited with a very grateful mother.

He and Danny then flew to St Paul to give evidence at the trial of a 37 year old man who had kidnapped his next door neighbour's 16 year old daughter, and then raped and killed her.

That was three days ago. The case had been more than a year previously but neither agent had ever forgotten the gruesome scene that awaited them when they figured out where the girl was and who had taken her. They hadn't talked about it at the time, but both men had suffered more than one nightmare since. Getting off the plane in JFK the two men had eaten dinner and talked a little about the case and the fact that the guy had only gotten 12 years in prison.

As they sat in the car outside Danny's apartment the dark haired agent couldn't help but noticing the dark circles ringing Martin Fitzgerald's eyes. He was going to ask what was wrong, what had been bothering the man for the last few weeks, but he was just too tired and it been too long a day to think about it.

And so the two men had parted with a 'Goodnight' and Martin turned his car towards home.

Sitting at a traffic light, Martin rested his head against the steering wheel for a few moments, in pure exhaustion. It had been a long day, a long week. A long month.

He wished he knew what was happening, the last three weeks were a lull, there were times when he almost forgot, first thing in the morning when he woke up, when just for a second it would seem like a normal day. And then he would remember and look around the apartment in fear, for a note, a missed call, anything. But there had been nothing.

The lights turned green and he was just about to pull off when the passenger door of the car opened and a man sat in. Martin reacted quickly, reaching for his gun.

But not quick enough.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." The voice was slightly hoarse and deeper than he remembered, the face to when it came into view, seemed different to what he had pictured in his head and in the nightmares that had plagued him for all those years after the kidnapping.

This man was tall, stocky and muscular, with tattoos running the length of both arms, long curlicues and what looked like ocean breaker waves.

But it was Jameson alright, it had to be. Martin silently bereted himself for not locking the door when Danny got out. He'd been so careful lately, always looking over his shoulder, never letting his guard down. But he'd been so tired……

"What do you want?" It was a stupid question to ask, but the only thing he could think of.

"To go to the park and play on the swings. What the f&&k do you think I want? Now keep driving."

Martin signed inwardly and pressed on the accelerator, the car moved forwards smoothly.

"Look, I really don't have time for this, that was all years ago, what's the point in coming after me? huh?"

"The point is that everything was ruined cos of you. You ruined it all, everything that I had was taken away and it wasn't even my fault."

"Not your fault?" Martin Fitzgerald turned to face the man, one eye on the road. "You ruined my family, almost killed me, and ruined my …… my Mom….." Here he broke off. "And you're telling me it's NOT YOUR FAULT?"

"SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP!" the man yelled waving the handgun he had dangerously close to the FBI agent. "SHUT UP or I swear to god I'll kill you now!"

"Not if I do it first." The words came out almost as a mutter as Martin Fitzgerald pushed the accelerator pedal to the floor and the car shot forwards at top speed through a red light and an open intersection. There were beeps, shouts and the sounds of screeching brakes. A delivery van coming from the opposite direction locked its brakes and almost missed them. Martin's car clipped the van and spun once before coming to a halt on the side of the road, almost as if its had been parked.

Martin banged his head off the steering wheel as the car spun, but he recovered quickly enough to realise that Jameson too had hit his head off the car door and was stunned. He wrenched open the car door…… and then heard the a very familiar 'click'

"Don't Marty. If you go, I go.

The two men walked for about a block, Martin could feel the cold steel of the handgun pressing against his back. Eventually they turned into a deserted side street. Jameson stopped in front of a tan sedan car and with the butt of the revolver broke the side window.

"Oh very original, what, you're going to take me off to another stupid basement are you? Give me a break."

He came to regret his sarcasm though, as he felt the heavy steel gun glancing off his head. Crumpling to the ground, Martin Fitzgerald was only aware of Jameson's shouts and the pain flaring up in his midsection as the man's boots made contact with his ribs.

"Just like the last time." He thought to himself as darkness descended.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

**July 2005, Location unknown, Day 5.**

It had taken a while for Martin Fitzgerald to realise that the man standing in front of him wasn't Stan Jameson as he initially had thought.

He hadn't much to go on in the first place, a couple of newspaper photographs, some vague memories that he'd long since tried to block out. Even his voice seemed similar, and in the end it wasn't Michael, Jameson's tone so much as what he was saying that led Martin Fitzgerald to believe that he'd been blaming the wrong brother for his current circumstance.

He'd known Stan had a brother. Of course he knew, he knew everything there was to know about that family, Mother dead, father an alcoholic, oh Martin had done his research, in the past few weeks, he'd read all the newspaper articles, even made a couple of phone calls, trying to stay one step ahead whilst at the same time trying not to remember, to remember what had happened, to remember how it had changed everything.

His ribs ached and burned, especially a couple on the right hand side that he was pretty sure were cracked, if not broken, and his head and ears pounded incessantly, he could feel the loss of blood affecting him, dizzy spells threatened to overcome him on more than one occasion. He thought of Danny, the look in his eyes when he'd dropped him off just a few days previously.

Danny knew, he'd wanted to help. 'If I get out of here alive' Martin thought ' I swear I'm going to buy that man the biggest pizza that money can buy anchovies and all, and I'll tell him everything, he deserves that much at least. Just hope he comes charging in soon along with the cavalry so I get that chance.

Looking around him, from the corner where he lay bound and handcuffed it seemed almost like before. Another damp cellar, with no light save a tiny slit window on the opposite wall. The only difference lay in his captor.

Stan Jameson had been clever, one of those kids that could have done something with his life had he been given the chance, but he never had, and he seemed to resent the young Marty Fitzgerald all the more for having those opportunities, he'd taunted the boy, sitting in that damp basement, ridiculed his washed out skinny body and his lack of friendship.

This man wasn't as clever, Martin began to realise that the man really hadn't thought through what he was doing. Stealing the car, moving location again, it all seemed rushed, a response to something. Fear? He was pacing up and down now, gun in hand and he kept muttering to himself, almost constantly.

The strangest thing was that this was the same Michael who'd befriended little Marty all those years ago when he and his sister had moved for the fifth time in three years and he knew no-one.

_The same Michael who looked out for him, telling him whom to avoid in school and how to avoid losing his lunch money to bullies. Their gardens joined at one point about half way down, separated by a tall laurel hedge and Martin would crawl through in the evenings and play football or cowboys and Indians. It was good to have a friend, someone to talk to and laugh with. _

_One evening Michael had introduced Marty to his older brother Stan, whom he worshipped and adored, not long after he'd stood and cried when Stan had clamped a damp strong sweet smelling rag over Marty's nose and mouth. He could see it still, as clear as day, Michael crying, the smell of the chloroform and then nothing._

He'd never seen Michael Jameson again. Never even thought about him, he'd been a kid, an unwitting participant in the whole thing.

But obviously something changed along the way.

"Michael" He finally spoke. "Michael, why are you doing this? Was it you all the time?"

The man stopped pacing long enough to fix Martin Fitzgerald with a long unseeing stare, as if he were looking right through him.

"Michael where is Stan, what's going on?. Is this for him, are you doing this for him?"

This time he was rewarded with a blow to the side of the head, a blow which came from the butt of a gun. He felt the warm blood trickling down his forehead and mixing with that which had congealed from earlier punches. The right side of his face was started to swell up immediately and for a moment spots appeared in front of his eyes.

He shook his head slightly and willed himself to stay conscious.

"Don't mention him" Michael spoke slowly, with a slight drawl.

"Why?" Martin's voice was slightly hoarse. "Where is he?"

"He's gone." Michael's voice was high pitched and he gave a nervous laugh, a sure sign that he was very unstable.

"It was his entire fault; he told me to be friends with you, he told me we'd get lots of money, he told me we'd go away together. And then he went away without me, and when he came back he didn't want to know me……didn't want to know his own brother…

his voice trailed off slightly….."I tried to talk to him, but he didn't want anything to do with me, said I reminded him to much of _what he was then. _What kind of BS is that? Huh?" I took you, I took you to show him that I cared, that I wanted to get revenge for….for what happened, for his going to jail. I thought he's come round eventually, but he didn't.

"What happened?" Martin coaxed. He wanted to get on Michael's side, to pretend sympathy with the man, maybe get his defences down, his head was throbbing so much that he was only getting every other sentence.

"What happened?" Jameson's voice rose slightly again. "He told me to let you go, said he's call the cops. Can you believe it? I told him not too, I warned him, but……

Here he trailed off again.

"You had a fight." Martin prompted gently.

"Yeah, we had a fight."

"Where's Stan now?" Martin shifted slightly in his seat as he spoke, trying to ride out another wave of dizziness that was making him extremely nauseous.

"Dead. Okay. He's dead." Michael stood up and walked over to Martin, his eyes suddenly steely grey. "I killed my own brother and pretty soon I'm gonna kill you too cop, after all its all your fault really, you and that precious father of yours." As he spoke he grabbed Martin roughly by the hair, yanking his head upwards. The sudden movement was too much for the already ill man, and he brought back up the contents of what little Stan Jameson had given him to eat over the previous 4 days, landing on the floor and on his captor's trousers and shoes.

Martin couldn't help smiling inwardly, although he had a feeling that it wouldn't be for long.

Sure enough he found himself jerked upwards from the chair and thrown on the floor, his already jarred ribs hitting against the concrete causing almost excruciating pain. Martin shifted himself up against one corner, hands still tied behind his back and his forehead now gleaming with pain and sweat.

"So that's it?" Martin panted trying to overcome the waves of pain shooting through both his head and his ribs. "You're just gonna kill me, its not going to bring Stan back."

"I know that. But I want Mr Victor Fitzgerald to know what he's done. He has to know, he has to see it done to him and feel the same way that I do all the time…its his fault that Stan's dead, not mine, if he hadn't put my brother in jail this would all never have happened."

"Don't you see?" Michael Jameson walked over and squatted in front of the FBI agent, pushing his face into Martins. "Don't you see that it just has to be this way, Marty?"

And with that he patted 'Marty' on the head and stood up. "Now I gotta go find Daddy, be a good boy till I get back…."

And with that he walked out of the room, locking the heavy door behind him, leaving Martin Fitzgerald sitting alone.

Just like the last time.


	17. Chapter 17

_Again, what can I say, time is not on my side, plus I'm in the middle of house hunting…this chapter is extra long to make up for the delays. Thanks for your patience and for your reviews._

**Chapter 17**

**July 2005 Day 5**

He'd been planning to fly to New York that day anyway. Even before the phone call came, Victor Fitzgerald had decided that enough was enough; he needed to see what was taking Jack Malone and his so called team so long to find his son. He was worried too. Five days was too long, longer than they gave most missing persons under ordinary circumstances. But then Martin Fitzgerald had never been very ordinary.

The first time, all those years ago, he'd been gone for weeks, long enough to make everyone think he was dead, and then one days he had just turned up. But by then it had been too late.

Victor Fitzgerald shook his head, and went back to reading his paper. It wasn't something he thought about anymore, he'd thought it best for everyone, most of all Martin to just push it to the back of everyone's mind. It wouldn't do to blame the boy for his mothers……passing. It was just a tragedy, plain and simply. A tragedy. Coincidental.

That's all it would ever be as far as Victor was concerned. Best to forget.

He pressed the call bell beside him and within seconds a very tall, dark skinned airhostess was at his side. "How long before we reach JFK?" His voice, as usual was clipped, neutral.

"About fifty minutes sir." The air hostess was distracted, failing to make eye contact, more interested in the conversation taking place between two of her colleagues on the next aisle.

'_Business class just isn't the same anymore….' _Victor signed, almost imperceptibly and folded over his paper. Reaching into the leather briefcase that had been a present from his wife almost ten years previously and was still as new, he drew out his cell phone.

Business class did have some advantages still; one of which was the ability to make international calls during the flight.

He dialled the number from heart and a pleasant voice answered "Federal Bureau of Investigation."

"Jack Malone."

As he spoke Victor withdrew the nearly folded fax in his pocket and opened it, studying the words as if seeing them for the first time.

The call came through to the bullpen, where all four remaining agents were trying desperately to come up with some information on Michael Jameson.

Jack was nearest the phone and on hearing who it was, for once decided to forgo protocol and pressed the speakerphone button on the conference phone.

"Malone" His voice was even more gravely than normal, betraying a lack of sleep, and also concern, both for Martin and for his team, what the search for him was doing to them.

"Jack, its Victor. I'm on my way up to you as we speak. I received a fax less than 2 hours ago, sent directly to my office, routed through a copy shop somewhere in New York. He wants to talk to me. There was a pause as Victor scanned the fax once again before continuing.

"It was sent to my direct fax number which only a handful of people have access to, so I can only assume Martin gave Jameson this information. Have one of your agents meet me in La Guardia airport at 21.00 hours."

There was the click of the phone line being disconnected. No goodbyes, no small talk.

Jack pressed the end call button and sighed. Standing up, he walked over and went to pour himself yet another cup of coffee. Vivian and Sam exchanged glances, their thoughts on Martin's father only too obvious, but it was Danny who voiced them.

"_Have someone meet me at 21.00 _who does his think he is, the damned president?" Danny stood up, pushing his chair backwards and almost knocking it over in the process.

"He's a father who's worried about his son", Vivian's tone was conciliatory. There was no point in adding any more tension to an already fraught situation.

"Bullshit, Viv, if he was _that_ worried he'd have been here four days ago. It might not even be legit, he could come out here and send us on some kind of a wild goose chase and…."

Once again Jack Malone found his patience levels wearing thin, especially where this particular dark haired agent was concerned.

"Taylor, that's enough! Whatever we might think of him, Victor Fitzgerald is damned good at his job and if he thinks the fax is real, that should be good enough for us."

Turning to Sam he said "Can you go meet him, and bring him back here? Meanwhile Danny, you go back down and speak with Mr Jameson and see if there's anything else he can tell us about Michael, what he did, where he hung out. Find out if he had a cell phone, or if anyone knew of a girlfriend, or someone close to him, that he might talk to….."

"In other words, get me out of the way." The sarcasm was heavy in Danny Taylor's voice as he made for the door.

Jack was about to retort, but stopped himself. Taylor was tired, they all were.

The journey to La Guardia and back took less than an hour. As Victor Fitzgerald and Jack Malone shook hands both noted the dark circles around the others eyes. For a moment there was a connection, a slight thawing of relations, but not for long……

Anxious not to be caught in the crossfire, Sam quickly made her way over to a corner desk and began scanning through Michael Jameson file, but she couldn't help overhearing the two older men talking.

"There really hasn't been much progress Jack, has there?" The old Deputy Director tone rose to the surface once again.

Jack bristled. "With all due respect SIR there had been quite a lot of progress, we know _who_ has Martin and we have an idea why, its just a matter of time before someone tells us where they are.

"Where my son is, you mean." Victor began. "And it the meantime. I don't need to remind you Jack, it's been five days, we don't normally leave any case for five days."

"What are you saying Victor, that we should stop looking?" Jack knew shouldn't have said it, but something about this man standing in front of him made even Jack Malone more irrational than normal. The statement was issued as a challenge to the taller, fair haired man, and he duly rose to it.

"I am saying, Agent Malone that this is _your _job on the line too, you and your whole team could end up supervising tea breaks in the canteen pretty soon if…."

At that moment the phone in the office rang once more. Sam went and picked it up, glad to have something to do. "Spade?"

She motioned to the others who quickly took seats around the table before she pressed the speakerphone button once more.

"Okay, we're all listening."

"All?" The voice at the other end, although male, was pitchy and slightly shaky. "All? Is Victor Fitzgerald listening, is Daddy there? If you are there Daddy, say hello"

Jack Malone looked over to Victor, willing him, warning him with a glance to do the right thing, to say the right things.

"I'm listening. Is my son alright?"

"Aw, touching, _is_ _my son_ _alright?_" No, I guess your sons not alright. I guess he's a bit pissed off. But then I'm a bit pissed off too. We need to talk, MR Fitzgerald."

"We're talking now" Victor's voice was totally calm, betraying little emotion. The others sat silent, listening.

"No, I mean in person." Jameson seemed calmer now, more in control.

"I'm not sure what good that would do." Victor continued. "What do you want with me or my son?"

"I want _you_ to know what you did to me, to me and my family. To my brother."

"I did nothing to your brother, Mr Jameson," Victor's voice rose slightly. "Your brother kidnapped _my _son."

Jack shot a warning look to the superior agent, recognising the angry tone creeping into the Deputy Director's voice.

However Victor, ignoring the glance continued. "Your brother's death had nothing to do with us, and you know that, what happened all those years ago was nothing to do with me, and certainly nothing to do with my son. He was an innocent victim then and now."

There was silence for a moment before Michael spoke again.

"Look Victor. You know what happened as well as I do. You wouldn't pay up, remember? I remember, I remember going to that bloody cabin everyday, bringing food to my brother, and everyday he'd wait for you to hand over the damned cash and everyday you kept stalling. It drove my brother mad, that's why he hurt the boy, and that's why he resisted arrest and ended up getting all that time in jail"

Vivian and Sam exchanged horrified glances at these latest revelations. Jack Malone could feel the anger rising inside of him, this information wasn't contained in any of the reports he had read, suppressed no doubt by the mighty Victor Fitzgerald.

Victor Fitzgerald's expression didn't change, but he did soften his tone, just slightly." Okay, Mr Jameson, I'll meet you. Where and when?"

"Get into your car head north, as if you were heading up the coast. I'll ring you in an hour. And Mr Fitzgerald, in case you think of stalling again, perhaps this will hurry you up"

Vivian could feel her throat muscles restricting as she heard the noise of a phone being left down, followed by footsteps, the sounds of scuffling and then an ear splitting involuntary yell of pain came down the phone.

The sound was unmistakeably Martin Fitzgerald.

"What have you done to my son!" Victor roared down the phone.

Sam held her breath, her throat constricting as she heard the yells quiet into a whimper, followed by the sounds of heavy breathing, of someone obviously in distress.

Then the footsteps grew louder once more and the phone was picked up.

"It seems Martin had an accident with a knife." Jameson's voice was cool now. "You should have thought your son to be more careful." "I'll call you in an hour, unless you want your son to bleed to death come alone."

And with that the call was ended.

There was silence for what seemed like hours, but was no more than 30 seconds. No-one wanted to speak. They had dealt with calls like that before, worse even, but none as close to home, none that involved a colleague, a friend even.

Jack was the first to speak.

"Can I talk to you in my office Victor."

He was angry, furious even, that part was obvious.

This time Victor didn't rise to it. "I know what you want to say to me Jack, I didn't disclose that information because I felt there was no point. Martin survived his injuries, and I think barely remembers what happened. I was simply trying to do the best thing for my son at the time. Now I have to go and meet this Michael Jameson.

Jack didn't reply, not because he agreed with his superior, but because he was simply afraid of what he would say, what would come out. But again he marvelled at how Martin Fitzgerald grew up even slightly normal with this man for a father.

"Ill have a car pick you up now and we'll follow." he eventually said.

"No, I'll go alone." It was easy to see where Martin got his stubborn streak from.

"NO, we will follow." If Victor could be stubborn, Jack could be adamant. "He's your son, but he's my officer, part of my team, and I'm damned if I'm going to let you go up their alone and screw things up"

"How DARE you…." The older man rose in fury, but was interrupted by Vivian who had left the table to take a call.

Jack, that was Danny, he talked to Mr Jameson and he thinks he knows where Martin is being held…..


	18. Chapter 18

_What can I say? Except sorry…I have no excuses for not posting for so long. However the story is complete! Totally finished. There are 6 chapters left so I'll post one a day. Thanks for your kind reviews and most especially for your patience!_

**Chapter 18**

**Day 5 cont…**

"Tell your agents to pull back, Jack, that's an order! I'm not having them mess things up... I have the best SWAT team in the land waiting at the other end of a phone line. I go in their alone and the SWAT team follows, and I won't hear another word about it. If he hadn't gotten so damn involved in your precious missing persons unit maybe my son would be sitting in the president's office instead of in handcuffs."

Jack Malone held the phone away from his ear, wincing at the harshness of deputy commission Fitzgerald's tone.

"Look SIR, if Danny's right then we wont need your SWAT Team, and with all respect Victor, I hardly thing your in a position to be in charge of twenty minute trained to shoot on command…"

The beep beep on the other line told him that Fitzgerald senior had hung up…

Danny raised his eyebrows slightly as he looked across at this boss. "I take it ol Vic's not happy then" he said, raising his voice to be heard above the whirr of helicopter blades. Both men were in an FBI helicopter making there way over the New York evening skyline.

"It's his only son; tell me you'd be any better in his position." He changed the subject "Why are you so sure Jameson Snr is telling the truth?"

Danny sighed heavily and then turned from where he had been looking out the window to face his boss.

"I asked him why he thought Michael was so upset after all these years, why he was so angry with Martin and with Victor….I just think its funny you know, I mean if it was me and something had happened like that with Raph, the yes I would be upset, but I think I'd be more upset with Raph for getting himself into that position, for ending up in prison and leaving me alone.

I said this to Mr Jameson.

"_That's then funniest thing about it…"'Jameson senior coughed harshly down the phone. "The way he was talking to me, it was like he was more angry with Stan that anyone else…that's why I don't understand."_

Jack nodded, realising what Danny was saying. "You think maybe Michael feels abandoned or betrayed or something and he wants to show the world how messed up he is because of what his brother did.

Danny nodded. "Right; and I also think he wants to finish what Stan started all those years back.

"And the first time, Martin was taken to a house about forty miles south of Washington called Healysville…" Jack continued.

"And forty miles south of New York there's a small village also called Healysville." Danny finished.

Jack sighed. "It's a pretty crappy lead Taylor."

"Yeah, but you know as well as I do it's the only one we got if we want to beat Victor and his SWAT team." He paused before adding "Otherwise you wouldn't have splashed out on the transport.

Jack smiled, the veiled humour in Danny's statement helping to clear some of the cloud of tension they were all under.

The sound of his cell phone was barely audible through the noise of the helicopter.

"Jack, its Vivian, Sam and I are about 20 miles south of New York, we just turned off interstate 20 onto highway 67, so far we seem to be going in a circle, and I don't know what the hell is going on."

"Well just keep on after him and keep calling it in." Jack replied. "Jameson has to be in contact with him to give him directions, and if this idea of Danny's turns out to be a wild goose chase then we need to know where Victor is at all times"

"And be careful," he added, a little awkwardly, not really knowing why he was saying it.

The helicopter touched down as he finished his call. They were about a mile from the town and as they peered out into the darkness, the two agents could see the lights of a car and a tall thin man in brown uniform coming towards them.

"I'm Sheriff Mike O'Neill". He shook both their hands. "What can I do for the FBI?"

"Jack Malone; this is Agent Danny Taylor. We're looking for a man called Stanley Jameson; we have reason to believe that he might be holding one of our agent's somewhere in Healyville. Can you tell me offhand of any abandoned or unoccupied buildings in or around the town?"

"Sure" Sheriff O'Neill turned his car onto a dirt track as he spoke. "There's the old grocery store over on Chandler for one, been condemned for five years and we're just waiting' for it to be torn down." He paused for a moment to think before continuing "Then there's the old schoolhouse out on Route 90…I can't think of anywhere else."

By this time the car had stopped and the three men emerged. The town itself was small, with a few businesses dotted here and there; it looked quite rundown, as if it had known better days.

They quickly split up, Jack and the Sheriff heading for the schoolhouse and Danny and another officer who had met them started for the old grocery store.

It was one of those eerie still nights that you only get in small towns or in the countryside. To Danny Taylor, a city boy born and raised it kind of spooked him. He gratefully accepted the flashlight given to him by the young officer and keeping it and his gun trained in front of him he made his way up to the back entrance to the grocery store.

Inside it smelt damp and very, very dusty. Silently they checked each room one by one, guns to the ready. It became evident pretty quickly though that the building was deserted.

Danny entered what seemed to be the old storeroom and shone the light around. Everything was covered in a thick layer of dust…everything that it except for two things, a chair standing close to the door and part of the floor close to a radiator. Quickly Danny pulled out his cell phone…

"Jack?" Danny's voice came through to Jack Malone who was just exiting the schoolhouse.

"Go ahead"

"They were here." A heavy sigh followed. "There are marks on the ground, like someone was sitting on it, and there are scratch marks on the radiator. Someone's been here alright.

"Okay, I'm on my way" Jack motioned to the sheriff as he spoke.

"Jack?" Danny's voice was a little unsteady this time. "There are other marks on the ground; looks like blood, a lot of blood."

Jack sighed heavily… "I've another call coming through Danny; I'll be there in five minutes. Jack Malone."

"Jack, its Sam. Listen Victor just pulled onto the hard shoulder, about five miles south of Healyville, isn't that where you and Danny are? It look's like he's talking to someone on his cell phone. Viv and I just drove by and we are going to pull in a little further and wa….."

But she didn't finish her sentence. Jack heard a screeching of brakes….then shouts..

"Viv!..look out!…"

"Sam? Sam? What's going on?"

There was no reply, nothing except the sound of a disconnected call…..


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

**Day 5…..**

He was beginning to hate cars, and he was especially starting to hate the trunks of cars. Not exactly the most comfortable form of transport, especially when he already felt like he'd gone ten rounds with Tyson.

Being cramped into a dark enclosed space was something he would have been happy to avoid at the best of times. Claustrophobia wasn't something Martin Fitzgerald would ever admit too, but the relief at seeing the trunk pop open, even if it revealed only the slightly demented grin of Michael Jameson, still brought a certain amount of relief.

But that relief was short-lived. He'd tried everything he could to persuade Jameson to stay put, knowing instinctively that eventually they would figure it out; Jack, Danny and the rest. 14 months in MPUE had shown him just how good they were.

Staying in that room, handcuffed to the radiator waiting for his father to show up, he'd had a chance.

But something had happened, something had scared Jameson, Martin knew. He'd left the room, probably to ring and give Fitzgerald senior directions, and when he returned all Martin could see were two eyes darting around the room and he could hear a continuous stream of words….

'_Cant stay here, he's watching us, watching us, watching me, they know, they know have to move, have to go away, have to get out of her, have to get away, they know….'_

So he'd taken the handcuffs from Martin Fitzgerald, replacing them with the barrel of a gun shoved against his side. A couple of days previously maybe Martin would have tackled him, and probably would have succeeded. However five days of little or no food or water and with his freshly injured hand he was barely able to stand and stumbled several times on his way out to the waiting car. The boot was opened and he was very unceremoniously bundled into it.

And that's where he remained. His hand hurt more than he ever realised it could. It was worse than his aching ribs, worse than the bruises which covered almost all of his body, worse than the cramps caused by lack of food and water, worse than anything.

Lying there in the darkness he tried not to concentrate on the intense throbbing, of the blood which had stopped flowing but which congealed now around the wounded area.

When the knife had entered his hand first, he'd felt nothing, not a thing, it had all happened too quickly, one swift movement and when he looked down he was pinned to the table…But then he's twisted the knife, left and right and all of a sudden a pain so sharp, so absolutely excruciating went right through him and he thought his whole body was going into spasms. It was a gut wrenching nauseating pain that made him want to vomit, but there was nothing left in his stomach except bile.

All in all it wasn't one of his happiest times. He could feel a fog beginning to descend upon him, slowly, slowly coming down in front of his eyes, causing objects to move completely of their own accord…

_I mustn't pass out, have to stay awake…._It was like a mantra now.

What scared him more than anything was the lack of air. He could feel the sweat gathering on the back of his neck and trickling down his shoulder, seeping through his shirt…

They seemed to be travelling for hours….the heat, and the lack of air grew more and more intense and the fog seemed to settle around him, causing the pain in his hand to dull somewhat...everything just seemed hazy…he was beginning to think that maybe it wouldn't be a bad thing to give in to the fog, to fall asleep for a while….when a rattling noise, followed by a blast of cold air brought him back to life…

The trunk of the car was opening…

He squinted up at Jameson, shielding his eyes from the moonlight with his good hand.

"Get out…"

The truth of it was he couldn't have moved even if he'd wanted to, his whole body was cramped, so he just lay there…

"I said MOVE" There were no half measures now, he was angry, no more than angry Stan Jameson was scared, scared of something. He pulled Martin roughly out of the boot as he spoke jarring bruised ribs and causing pains to shoot through his whole body. He wobbled unsteadily on his feet, holding on to the car for support.

Jameson turned, as if looking to see was anyone around. It wasn't much of an opportunity and in hindsight it was a pretty stupid idea, but it was the only one he had at the time. Martin Fitzgerald lashed out at his captor, kicking him straight in the stomach and causing Jameson to double over in pain, losing his grip on the gun, Martin dove to grab it with his good hand…but the kick hadn't been quite hard enough, Jameson moved quickly, slamming Martin up against the boot of the car.

He punched him viciously in the face "You son of a……"

The rest was lost to Martin as a rain of blows fell to his head, his chest, his stomach...he managed to curl up in a ball in front of the car, trying to shield himself from the worst of the blows…

&&&&&&&&

The first thing he heard when he eventually came too was a scrabbling, scurrying noise…Hw cracked open one eye and then the other…and found that only one would open fully, Even that was enough to realise what was making the noise.

Rats.

"Hope you ain't scared of rodents." Jameson seemed very far away at first, but martin knew he was sitting quite close. "Cos you gonna be playin' house with 'em for a while."

"Just swell…" Martin was surprised by how hoarse and weak his voice sounded. "I'm a regular Doctor Doolittle"…he finished bravely.

Shifting slightly he found himself handcuffed, this time with his hands around the back of a chair in what seemed to once have been an office.

"This used to be the old Walker Sawmill."

Jameson seemed calmer now, he sat across from martin, gun in hand and seemed to be studying the man in front of him

"My Daddy worked here for 10 years, 'fore they laid him off. That was when we was kids, Mike an me and I was only a baby. We had to go to New York then, cos Daddy needed to get work, Mom was dead and there was no one else to help.

"I'm sure he did what he thought…..Martin paused to cough, spitting what he suspected to be blood from his mouth before continuing…"what he thought was best for you?"

"Hell no, he did what he could to get drunk…that was all, didn't do nothing for us…Mike, he used to out and rob food for us and after a couple'a years…and then I did…we had nothing and nobody... only us…don't you see?

He looked over at Martin, his expression now full of pain.

"You, you wouldn't know anything about it, with your high powered Dad drivin' all round the countryside looking for you"

Jameson paused for a moment, and peered down the barrel of his magnum before taking out and reloading the clip…he stood up and walked over to where Martin sat slumped in this chair.

"Daddy's little boy." He pointed the gun directly at Martin's head. "What would daddy do if he could see you now.?"

_Tell me what an idiot I am for letting myself get caught_ Martin thought bitterly, but wisely he chose to say nothing, seeing that Jameson would be easily roused and was none to stable.

Instead he tried to steer the conversation another way.

"Do you think Stan would want this, would want to see you this way?

"Stan didn't give a shit about me either!" Jameson stood up abruptly and began pacing the room…He didn't give a shit about me, else he wouldn't have gone to prison and left me with….with HIM…I told him that, I told him when I went to see him, and he wouldn't listen to me, he just wouldn't listen…that's why I shot him…I just wanted him to listen….I didn't want to…..

"_So you did kill him' _thought Martin silently. Out loud he said "I'm listening."

"Yeah, well I'm sick of talkin' to you."

Martin coughed again and this time there was no mistaking the metallic taste in this mouth, nor the blood that he spit, grimacing onto the dusty floor…

Closing his eyes Martin pictured each one of his colleagues in his mind…..and prayed for a miracle.

Find me, please…..


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

Stanley Jameson got 26 years in jail, not just for kidnapping Martin as he had a couple of outstanding warrants too. But it was still a stiff punishment. Victor Fitzgerald had connections in all the right places, and once a jury found Jameson guilty, he was determined that he wouldn't see the light of day for a long time.

Physically Martin was fine and his father made arrangements for the boy to see a psychologist to deal with any emotional issues the boy should have a result of his prolonged captivity.

It was the 'right thing' to do at the time, professionals would be better able to handle the situation and besides, he had a lot of other problems to deal with, he was still grieving for his pretty young wife whom he had dearly loved in his own way and was faced with the prospect of bringing up two children, for there was still Martin's younger sister to worry about.

His wife's death had come as a total shock. He had always thought her a strong woman, one of the strongest he knew, capable of dealing with almost anything. Part of Victor too was angry, so angry with her for leaving her two children for taking what he saw as the easy way out.

But none of this was ever mentioned, not to anyone. He sent Marty or Martin as he was to be now to counselling and sent Laura his daughter there too.

She had been neglected, almost forgotten about during this whole saga, spending most of the time with her Aunt Bonnie in New York. A pretty, pettish child she was missing her mother badly and only her aunt seemed able to handle the child.

They arrived back together a week later, and Bonnie offered to stay for another week or so, to help out around the house, to sort out Martins mothers personal belongings, her clothes, shoes etc….

The day before she was due to fly back to New York was Laura's sixth birthday. Not wanting the child to miss out, Bonnie organized a small party, with just close neighbors and their children. She explained to Laura that there would be presents and cake, but no balloons or decorations because they were still mourning for their Mother and it wouldn't be right, and the child seemed except this.

Privately Bonnie had wanted to throw a proper party for the child, but Victor objected and she felt it would cause less problems to go along with him this time.

Martin was expected to attend of course. He tried as much as possible to stay out of people's notice, he'd been in the papers and on the news for long enough, but naturally people wanted to talk to him.

The morning of the birthday Victor told Martin to take his sister next door to the Campbell's, as they wanted to give the little girl her birthday present.

Scowling at the retreating figure Martin took his little sisters hand. "Come on, he said. Let's see what present Mrs Campbell got you." But to his surprise she pulled her hand away.

"I don't want to." Her voice was low, so low that Martin almost didn't hear her.

"What do you mean you don't want to?" Martin couldn't help the tone of impatience that crept into this voice. He wanted to be out playing football, not babysitting his little sister.

"You always want to go to the Campbell's, she gives the _bestest_ presents ever according to you".

"I…I don't want to go…" She said again and Martin only noticed then that her eyes were bright with unshed tears.

"Well ok, fine, it's no skin off my nose if you don't want a present." he began, hoping to goad her into changing her mind. He was walking away from her when she spoke the next sentence.

"I don't…..want to go….with you."

Martin stopped suddenly and slowly turned around. His little sister was sitting on the chair and big tears were running down her pretty face and landing in huge drops on her new birthday dress.

"What….what do you mean" he stammered, ashamed of his , don't cry like that Lolly.." he hoped that using his mothers pet name for his sister might help

Don't call me that, only Mommy called me that and now Mommy's dead.

"I know, but we're going to have a new Mommy soon, remember? And I bet Mom is in heaven and she's looking down at you in your new birthday dress, right? And she wouldn't want to see you crying…"

He wasn't prepared however, for her next words and for the next 20 odd years they were to be the only ones he could truly remember from that whole period.

"Daddy said….."She started but a sob cut her sentence in two.

"Said what, what is the matter with you…?"

"_Daddy said that Mommy's in heaven because of you." He said… he said that she died cos she was sad because she thought you were dead."_

It's funny the things that you remember from your childhood, odd sentences, parts of conversations, feelings or emotions that you cant really explain anymore.

Children hear everything, sometimes they pick it up wrong, sometimes they say things out of context, but they rarely get it very wrong. There in that sentence was everything Marty Fitzgerald had tried to block out, everything that he knew to be true but that everyone told him wasn't…his psychiatrist, Auntie Bonnie, even the teachers in school.

But it WAS true, it was his fault, however indirectly, however much he would never, ever want to hurt his Mom, the fact was that she had died waiting for her son to come home. He'd done that and he couldn't fix it.

He knew then that something had died inside of him, more than the shock and the trauma of the kidnap, more than the physical pain, the bruised rib, the black eye…more than the cold and the hunger, more than fear or loneliness. He had to grow up now, no more Marty, no more secret hugs.

Just Martin Fitzgerald, the cold detached overachiever.

At least this way he couldn't hurt anyone.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

Both men had exited the helicopter before it touched the ground. Ahead of them they could see two cars, one parked on the edge of the roadway and the other sitting across the highway and looked as if it had been hit on the right hand side.

The sirens of an ambulance could be heard in the distance, which was muffled somewhat by the noise of the helicopter blades slowly stopping.

"Sam, Viv, are you ok?" Danny ran over to where Sam was standing and Vivian sitting half in and half out of the driver's seat of their car. There was a large dent to the rear fender but otherwise the car seemed ok. He could see as he approached though that neither agent was badly injured.

"We're fine Danny, just a bit shook up." Sam replied, seeing the worried look in his eyes.

"Viv, you sure you're ok. The dark skinned agent looked pale and Danny could see her hands were shaking ever so slightly."

"I'm not made of glass you know." Was Vivian's sharp reply, which brought the faintest of smiles to Danny's Taylor's face. A response like that meant she was just pissed off, not injured.

"What happened?" Jack asked as he joined the trio.

"I don't know really," Sam replied. "We'd been following Victor, and were about a quarter of a mile or so behind him. All of a sudden he pulled over to the side of the road. Just as we were coming up behind his car this black car came out of nowhere and smashed into us, luckily Viv kept control of the car."

"Jameson must have called Victor to give him directions," Jack looked over to where the driver door of Victor's cars was opening… "Something must have happened, and whatever it was spooked Jameson into moving Martin."

"I bet I know." Danny growled. "He must have said something to piss Jameson off; why else would he run like that, huh?"

"Danny, stop it, we don't know what happened, ok, just keep your mouth shut." Jack warned as the deputy director reached them

"What the HELL do you think you are doing agent Malone, I specifically said I was coming out here alone, how DARE you disobey me." Fire was spitting from the elder Fitzgerald's eyes as he spoke. "Of all the arrogant…"

But he never got to finish his scentence because at that moment Danny Taylor grabbed Victor Fitzgerald by the collar and slammed him roughly against the bonnet of the car. "What did you say to him, huh, what did you say? That's why he moved, isn't it, and if anythings happened to Martin…."

Jack Malone grabbed Danny by the waist and dragged him away fro the car "ENOUGH DANNY….STOP IT…" He looked straight into the younger mans eyes. "Go and find out how many roads lead out of Healyville…"

"But Jack..." Danny began

"JUST DO IT AGENT TAYLOR." Jack shoved him away as he spoke and turned to where an extremely irate Deputy Director was straightening his tie.

"If this is how you control your team Jack, it's no wonder my son went missing so easily…"

Jack sighed inwardly, scrubbing his hands over his face. "I hardly think this is the time or place for an argument Victor, I will see that Danny gets properly cautioned about this back in headquarters.

"If anything has happened to my son," Victor's voice was very thin. "Ill have his badge; I'll have all your badges."

"Jack" Sam interrupted the war of words, her cell phone still pressed to her ear. "The black car that tailgated us has been spotted driving erratically about 15 miles from here. A man called the cops after he spotted the truck tearing down a back road, apparently the only building in the area is a derelict grain mill."

Danny looked over at Jack. "Jameson's father worked in a mill, before they moved to the city."

"Alright, we'll leave the car here, the chopper can take us all. "Jack began,

"No he is my son; we do this MY way…" Victor pulled out a two way radio. "I go in first and SWAT follows."

"No way"… Danny began to protest again but was interrupted by Jack. "Danny, helicopter, NOW." He motioned to Sam to follow.

Watching the retreating figures Jack sighed before turning his attention back to Victor Fitzgerald who was punching numbers into his cell phone.

"I'm warning you Jack," The man began as he held the phone to his ear. "This is MY gig…"

In one swift movement however, he found the phone no longer in his hand and instead lying on the asphalt, his other hand was grabbed suddenly and he felt cold steel against his wrist almost before he could protest. Jack Malone secured the other end of the handcuffs to the wing mirror of the car before picking up the falled cell phone and walking away.

Vivan, who'd stopped midway to the helicopter to wait for Jack, stood, her mouth slightly opened, not believing what she'd just witnassed.

"Let's go." Jack walked towards the female agent, the faintest trace of a smile on his usually glum countenance.

"I can close down your unit Jack; you won't be able to get a job sweeping the streets when I finish with you." Victor shouted as he struggled against the handcuffs.

"Jack, you can't do that, Martin is his son for god's sake." Sam shouted above the din of the helicopter as it took off.

"I've already called the local P.D, they'll have him free soon enough." Jack looked at her closely. "I did what I felt was best for Martin, if the SWAT team go ploughing in then anything is liable to happen, you know that…"

"He'll have you fired," Danny looked over at his boss.

"Yeah, well maybe I needed a career change."

Danny shook his head, partly in disbelief and partly out of admiration for his boss, before turning to look out the window as the helicopter descended onto very old rough dirt track.

The old mill was a half a mile ahead. Switching on torches they made their way slowly up the old roadway. The fresh tyre tracks of Jameson's vehicle were clearly visible…

Eventually they saw the car parked outside what look like a huge wooden grain silo...there was a building behind, with holes in the roof and bits of wood and old tiles lying all around. The building looked very old and even more unstable; they could hear the groans of the wooden supports against the wind as they drew nearer.

All four agents entered through what looked like an old side door, and from there they split up, each listening intently. The building was split level, they could see a wooden stairs leading up to what looked like the old mill office located right in the middle of the building.

It didn't take them long to hear noises coming from this room. A faint moaning noise, and the sounds of talking, but not of converstion, it sounded like someone was carrying on a one sided monologue.

Danny quickly mounted the wooden steps and stooped below the window of the office, raising his head slightly he looked through the cracked and aged perspex window, the room was in semi darkness, but what he could see sent cold shivers through him. A figure was sitting on one chair, with what looked like a shotgun in his hand, the other person, Martin, was slumped forward in another chair, with what looked like a rope tied around him. Danny couldn't tell if his friend was unconsious but could see dark patches on his clothing that could be blood.

He made his way back down to the others and briefly filled them in.

"Okay we have two choices, we can wait this out and hope he leaves the room, or we can go in their and take our chances.

They never got a chance to debate this though, at that moment the sound of a single gunshot could be heard from the upstairs room…

Afterwards Vivian swore that she could feel everyones heart stop beating at exactly the same time, just for a split second. Then they ran up the stairs and into the room.

And it was all over… No confrontation, no standoff, no nothing. Lying on the floor in front of them lay Michael Jameson, blood seeping out from his head and through the dusty wooden floorboards.

Skirting around the body Danny Taylor knelt down in front of Martin. His breath of was coming in harsh gasps and his skin was ghoslty white and asken. Dried blood was caked on his head and down the front of his shirt. Black and blue bruises stood out harshly against his pale countenance.

'_Bastard' _Danny thought to himself as he cut the ropes holding Martin against the chair and together, he and Jack gently layed their colleague on the ground as Vivian called for an ambulance.

"Hey, Junior, wake up" Jack slapped the younger man lightly on the left cheek. "Come on Fitzgerald, enough dramatics already." He was rewarded by one eyelid cracking open.

"J…jaaack?" the voice was hoarse and rasping. "Da-aanneee….?" His left hand came upwards, flapping wildly before being caught by Jack Malone's firm grasp.

"We have you Martin, its over."

Looking across the prone figure on the floor both men exchanged weary but triumphant glances. This missing person had been found.


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

Luckily none of Martin's injuries had turned out to be that serious. The most dangerous, a punctured lung had been operated on. After that it was just a series of nasty cuts and bruises, some of which needed stitching and lots and lots of rest. The doctors told Jack that in cases of severe trauma like this they liked to keep someone as long as possible, delayed shock can set in, other injuries can come to light.

He was inclined to agree. Jack knew Martin Fitzgerald, knew how tough he was, mentally. Hell, he met his old man. But he also knew that this ran deep, old wounds had been opened and everything was not exposed, out there for everyone to know, his whole life Story. Martin wasn't going to like that, and he wasn't going to respond well to anyone probing it either.

He's stayed at the hospital for as long as he could, sending the others home one by one to get food and to sleep, promising to keep them updated. Then for a while he'd sat there alone, in the waiting room, only to be joined eventually by a limping Victor Fitzgerald, supporting himself rather heavily on one crutch,

No words were exchanged between either men. Jack stood up when Victor entered the surgical waiting room, and silently moved one chair in front of another so that Victor could rest his bandaged ankle. Victor had nodded his thanks and then they had sat there, not side by side, but not on opposite sides of the room either. When the surgeon had announced that all was well Victor had gone in to see Martin. He stayed for twenty minutes and then left without saying goodbye.

Not long afterwards a nurse had gone to Jack and told him he could sit with Martin if he liked, that Mr Fitzgerald had asked if he would.

Maybe they should have spoken, but then maybe it was easier this way too. Both men knew what they were, what others thought of them, and both of them knew they weren't going to change. But despite everything Victor knew what was best for his son, and Jack Malone silently accepted the responsibility that had been passed to him.

"You know those bandages really mess up your hair Martin, you really should get it all shaved off…"

"What, and spoil this wounded soldier look I have going on? No way… Martin coughed as he spoke, wincing as he did so, one hand holding his bandaged ribs, The breathing tube had been removed just a few hours previously leaving his throat raw and sore. "

"You okay?" the smile faded from Samantha Spade's expression as she moved towards the bed.

He waved her away with his free hand, "Its ok, Sam, really…" A small dark haired nurse entered the room, smiling at the figure in the bed.

"You ok, Martin?" she began.

Sam rose from her seat, winking at the patient as she did so. "I think I'll leave you to the nurses, I have a date" she said, gathering her coat and bag as she stood up.

"Ah, another mysterious man, surely you can tell an injured man who?" Martin teased.

"Not even wounded soldiers get to know about my dates." Samantha smiled, and turning to leave, she turned back quickly and kissed martin lightly on the forehead. "It's good to have you back." She whispered.

Martin smiled. "Thanks Sam."

He lay back against the pillows, feeling the pounding headache that had been threatening to overwhelm him earlier slowly starting to fade. He ached all over, and wished he could sleep for a while.

Jack and Vivian had left an hour previously. Jack had stayed all night and most of the morning before Martin had persuaded Vivian to take him home. He hadn't said much to martin, apart from berating him about giving Jameson so much grief and ending up getting more seriously injured than he'd needed.

_You need to watch that hot head of yours Fitzgerald, god forbid that you should end up like your old man._

And Martin knew that Jack knew, knew what it was like, knew what it had been like, and although it was never mentioned, never would be mentioned, he knew that Jack Malone, for whatever reason was firmly in Martin Fitzgerald's corner, however much he might ride his ass day to day.

And he was glad.

The only person he hadn't seen was Danny Taylor. His partner had been MIA all day, in fact the last martin had seen of him was outside Jameson's house, right before he passed out and almost choked on his own blood. That was more than 20 hours previously.

Left to his own devices Martin couldn't help but thinking back over the events of the last few days…

He knew he was lucky, once his lung popped he only had a couple of hours, and he was certain that Martin Jameson wouldn't have helped him. The man couldn't even help himself, that much was obvious. Instead he focused all his energies on revenge.

"Penny for them...although I wouldn't think their worth it…" a voice came from the doorway. The dishevelled figure of Danny Taylor, still in the same clothes and with very large dark circles ringing his already dark eyes stood at the door. He grinned as he entered the room.

"That shows what you know Taylor; I'll have you know this brain is priceless." He retorted, an involuntary smile erasing some of the thoughts that had been running through his mind.

"Sorry I didn't get here any sooner" Danny sat down heavily on the seat beside Martins bed, "I had some uh stuff to finish up, you know."

Martin looked into the eyes that were trying to avoid looking directly at his.

"What happened?" Danny finally asked the question that no-one had dared mention so far. Jack had stopped two officers from going in to take the Martin's statement, saying that he would call them when the agent was ready to talk.

Martin closed his eyes and laid his head back against the starched white pillow the nurse had given him. Danny opened his mouth, trying to think of something to fill the silence, but thought better of it, instead loosening his tie even further and stretching out his legs so that his feet rested on the very edge of the hospital bed.

"I keep getting them mixed up" Martin eventually said, speaking rather softly, his throat still paining him. "Stan and Michael I mean, I keep mixing up their faces in my mind. Funny thought, I mean they didn't really look that alike." His eyes remain closed.

"That whole thing, you know, back when I was a kid, I think, I think I buried it so far away that I almost forgot it ever happened. Its like I lived two lives, one up until I was 12 and another from that moment onwards, two different lives, two different families, two different people."

"He wanted revenge, for what I don't know, I don't really think he knew. He wanted to hurt me, but most of all he wanted to hurt Dad, because Dad made sure that Stan stayed in jail all those years ago. But in the end I think he was just angry at Stan and that's why he killed him, he was just so angry at his brother for deserting him. Sitting there in that room he kept talking and talking and talking…I think he realised what he'd done. He didn't mean to kill his brother, just to cause him pain and when it all sank it, he just couldn't live with it, couldn't live with the fact that he'd killed his own brother.

"So he shot himself" Danny finished the statement for him.

Martin opened his eyes at this point and looked across at Danny. "What I don't understand though, is what my father said to him on the phone. Whatever it was it seemed to trigger something in his mind, that's when he started talking to himself."

He paused and sighed heavily. "Could have damned near killed me, but I suppose it worked in the end. Jameson's dead and I'm alive. He trailed off at this point, looking down at his bruised knuckes.

Danny took hold of his partners arm and looked straight into his eyes.

"I don't have any easy answers Martin, you know what I think of your old man, and Jack feels the same. Personally I think he nearly got you killed, but I don't for one moment think he meant that to happen. I mean what happened to me and what happened to you, their miles and miles apart, everything about our lives was...going through all that, and living with it ever since and now having to go through it all again…"

He paused as if looking for some way of describing what he felt. "Well, it sucked."

Martin couldn't help smiling. "Yeah, it did. But maybe in some weird kind of way it's brought closure…" he trailed off, a yawn escaping him.

"You know I'm no shrink, but if you ever feel like being un-Fitzgerald like and talk about it…well...you know…"

"I know." Martin smiled his thanks and then yawned, tiredness and a dull throb in his head taking over. Before closing his eyes he said "Go home Taylor, you'll scare away my pretty night nurse.

"Pretty eh" Danny waggled his eyebrows… "In that case no way, I am definitely sticking around. "He moved around in the hard plastic seat as if trying to make himself more comfortable. "Besides, someone needs to watch your skinny ass in case you get yourself into more trouble."

Martin smiled, his eyes closed. "Thanks Danny" Ten seconds later he was fast asleep.

No problem, Danny whispered to himself as he looked gratefully over the slightly snoring but live figure in the bed in front of him. "Anytime."


End file.
